The Works of Edgar Allan Poe Volume 1 - LimpidSoft

The Works of Edgar AllanPoe

Volume 1

by Edgar Allan Poe

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Contents

EDGAR ALLAN POE 4

EDGAR ALLAN POE 11

DEATH OF EDGAR A. POE 20

THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURES OF ONE HANSPFAAL 29

THE GOLD-BUG 87

FOUR BEASTS IN ONE 122

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 130

THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET 165

THE BALLOON-HOAX 212

THE OVAL PORTRAIT 236

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EDGAR ALLAN POE

AN APPRECIATION

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmercifulDisaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one bur-den bore–

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf "never–never more!"

This stanza from "The Raven" was recommended by James Rus-sell Lowell as an inscription upon the Baltimore monument whichmarks the resting place of Edgar Allan Poe, the most interesting andoriginal figure in American letters. And, to signify that peculiarmusical quality of Poe’s genius which inthralls every reader, Mr.Lowell suggested this additional verse, from the "Haunted Palace":

And all with pearl and ruby glowingWas the fair palace door,Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,And sparkling ever more,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet dutyWas but to sing,In voices of surpassing beauty,The wit and wisdom of their king.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

Born in poverty at Boston, January 19 1809, dying under painfulcircumstances at Baltimore, October 7, 1849, his whole literary ca-reer of scarcely fifteen years a pitiful struggle for mere subsistence,his memory malignantly misrepresented by his earliest biographer,Griswold, how completely has truth at last routed falsehood andhow magnificently has Poe come into his own, For "The Raven,"first published in 1845, and, within a few months, read, recitedand parodied wherever the English language was spoken, the half-starved poet received $ 10! Less than a year later his brother poet,N. P. Willis, issued this touching appeal to the admirers of geniuson behalf of the neglected author, his dying wife and her devotedmother, then living under very straitened circumstances in a littlecottage at Fordham, N. Y.:

"Here is one of the finest scholars, one of the most original menof genius, and one of the most industrious of the literary professionof our country, whose temporary suspension of labor, from bodilyillness, drops him immediately to a level with the common objectsof public charity. There is no intermediate stopping-place, no re-spectful shelter, where, with the delicacy due to genius and culture,he might secure aid, till, with returning health, he would resumehis labors, and his unmortified sense of independence."

And this was the tribute paid by the American public to the mas-ter who had given to it such tales of conjuring charm, of witcheryand mystery as "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "Ligeia"; suchfascinating hoaxes as "The Unparalleled Adventure of Hans Pfaall,""MSS. Found in a Bottle," "A Descent Into a Maelstrom" and "TheBalloon Hoax"; such tales of conscience as "William Wilson," "TheBlack Cat" and "The Tell-tale Heart," wherein the retributions of re-morse are portrayed with an awful fidelity; such tales of naturalbeauty as "The Island of the Fay" and "The Domain of Arnheim";such marvellous studies in ratiocination as the "Gold-bug," "TheMurders in the Rue Morgue," "The Purloined Letter" and "The Mys-tery of Marie Roget," the latter, a recital of fact, demonstrating theauthor’s wonderful capability of correctly analyzing the mysteriesof the human mind; such tales of illusion and banter as "The Pre-mature Burial" and "The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether";such bits of extravaganza as "The Devil in the Belfry" and "The An-gel of the Odd"; such tales of adventure as "The Narrative of ArthurGordon Pym"; such papers of keen criticism and review as won for

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Poe the enthusiastic admiration of Charles Dickens, although theymade him many enemies among the over-puffed minor Americanwriters so mercilessly exposed by him; such poems of beauty andmelody as "The Bells," "The Haunted Palace," "Tamerlane," "TheCity in the Sea" and "The Raven." What delight for the jaded sensesof the reader is this enchanted domain of wonder-pieces! What anatmosphere of beauty, music, color! What resources of imagination,construction, analysis and absolute art! One might almost sympa-thize with Sarah Helen Whitman, who, confessing to a half faith inthe old superstition of the significance of anagrams, found, in thetransposed letters of Edgar Poe’s name, the words "a God-peer."His mind, she says, was indeed a "Haunted Palace," echoing to thefootfalls of angels and demons.

"No man," Poe himself wrote, "has recorded, no man has daredto record, the wonders of his inner life."

In these twentieth century days–of lavish recognition–artistic,popular and material–of genius, what rewards might not a Poeclaim!

Edgar’s father, a son of General David Poe, the American revo-lutionary patriot and friend of Lafayette, had married Mrs. Hop-kins, an English actress, and, the match meeting with parental dis-approval, had himself taken to the stage as a profession. Notwith-standing Mrs. Poe’s beauty and talent the young couple had a sorrystruggle for existence. When Edgar, at the age of two years, was or-phaned, the family was in the utmost destitution. Apparently thefuture poet was to be cast upon the world homeless and friendless.But fate decreed that a few glimmers of sunshine were to illuminehis life, for the little fellow was adopted by John Allan, a wealthymerchant of Richmond, Va. A brother and sister, the remainingchildren, were cared for by others.

In his new home Edgar found all the luxury and advantagesmoney could provide. He was petted, spoiled and shown off tostrangers. In Mrs. Allan he found all the affection a childless wifecould bestow. Mr. Allan took much pride in the captivating, pre-cocious lad. At the age of five the boy recited, with fine effect, pas-sages of English poetry to the visitors at the Allan house.

From his eighth to his thirteenth year he attended the ManorHouse school, at Stoke-Newington, a suburb of London. It was the

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Rev. Dr. Bransby, head of the school, whom Poe so quaintly por-trayed in "William Wilson." Returning to Richmond in 1820 Edgarwas sent to the school of Professor Joseph H. Clarke. He proved anapt pupil. Years afterward Professor Clarke thus wrote:

"While the other boys wrote mere mechanical verses, Poe wrotegenuine poetry; the boy was a born poet. As a scholar he was ambi-tious to excel. He was remarkable for self-respect, without haugh-tiness. He had a sensitive and tender heart and would do anythingfor a friend. His nature was entirely free from selfishness."

At the age of seventeen Poe entered the University of Virginia atCharlottesville. He left that institution after one session. Officialrecords prove that he was not expelled. On the contrary, he gaineda creditable record as a student, although it is admitted that he con-tracted debts and had "an ungovernable passion for card-playing."These debts may have led to his quarrel with Mr. Allan which even-tually compelled him to make his own way in the world.

Early in 1827 Poe made his first literary venture. He inducedCalvin Thomas, a poor and youthful printer, to publish a small vol-ume of his verses under the title "Tamerlane and Other Poems." In1829 we find Poe in Baltimore with another manuscript volume ofverses, which was soon published. Its title was "Al Aaraaf, Tamer-lane and Other Poems." Neither of these ventures seems to haveattracted much attention.

Soon after Mrs. Allan’s death, which occurred in 1829, Poe,through the aid of Mr. Allan, secured admission to the UnitedStates Military Academy at West Point. Any glamour which mayhave attached to cadet life in Poe’s eyes was speedily lost, for disci-pline at West Point was never so severe nor were the accommoda-tions ever so poor. Poe’s bent was more and more toward literature.Life at the academy daily became increasingly distasteful. Soon hebegan to purposely neglect his studies and to disregard his duties,his aim being to secure his dismissal from the United States service.In this he succeeded. On March 7, 1831, Poe found himself free. Mr.Allan’s second marriage had thrown the lad on his own resources.His literary career was to begin.

Poe’s first genuine victory was won in 1833, when he was thesuccessful competitor for a prize of $ 100 offered by a Baltimore pe-riodical for the best prose story. "A MSS. Found in a Bottle" was the

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winning tale. Poe had submitted six stories in a volume. "Our onlydifficulty," says Mr. Latrobe, one of the judges, "was in selectingfrom the rich contents of the volume."

During the fifteen years of his literary life Poe was connectedwith various newspapers and magazines in Richmond, Philadel-phia and New York. He was faithful, punctual, industrious, thor-ough. N. P. Willis, who for some time employed Poe as critic andsub-editor on the "Evening Mirror," wrote thus:

"With the highest admiration for Poe’s genius, and a willingnessto let it alone for more than ordinary irregularity, we were led bycommon report to expect a very capricious attention to his duties,and occasionally a scene of violence and difficulty. Time went on,however, and he was invariably punctual and industrious. We sawbut one presentiment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious andmost gentlemanly person.

"We heard, from one who knew him well (what should be statedin all mention of his lamentable irregularities), that with a singleglass of wine his whole nature was reversed, the demon became up-permost, and, though none of the usual signs of intoxication werevisible, his will was palpably insane. In this reversed character, werepeat, it was never our chance to meet him."

On September 22, 1835, Poe married his cousin, Virginia Clemm,in Baltimore. She had barely turned thirteen years, Poe himself wasbut twenty-six. He then was a resident of Richmond and a regularcontributor to the "Southern Literary Messenger." It was not untila year later that the bride and her widowed mother followed himthither.

Poe’s devotion to his child-wife was one of the most beautifulfeatures of his life. Many of his famous poetic productions wereinspired by her beauty and charm. Consumption had marked herfor its victim, and the constant efforts of husband and mother wereto secure for her all the comfort and happiness their slender meanspermitted. Virginia died January 30, 1847, when but twenty-fiveyears of age. A friend of the family pictures the death-bed scene–mother and husband trying to impart warmth to her by chafing herhands and her feet, while her pet cat was suffered to nestle uponher bosom for the sake of added warmth.

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These verses from "Annabel Lee," written by Poe in 1849, the lastyear of his life, tell of his sorrow at the loss of his child-wife:

I was a child and she was a child,In a kingdom by the sea;But we loved with a love that was more than love–I and my Annabel Lee;With a love that the winged seraphs of heavenCoveted her and me.And this was the reason that, long ago;In this kingdom by the sea.A wind blew out of a cloud, chillingMy beautiful Annabel Lee;So that her high-born kinsmen cameAnd bore her away from me,To shut her up in a sepulchreIn this kingdom by the sea,

Poe was connected at various times and in various capacitieswith the "Southern Literary Messenger" in Richmond, Va.; "Gra-ham’s Magazine" and the "Gentleman’s Magazine" in Philadel-phia.; the "Evening Mirror," the "Broadway journal," and "Godey’sLady’s Book" in New York. Everywhere Poe’s life was one of un-remitting toil. No tales and poems were ever produced at a greatercost of brain and spirit.

Poe’s initial salary with the "Southern Literary Messenger," towhich he contributed the first drafts of a number of his best-knowntales, was $ 10 a week! Two years later his salary was but $ 600 ayear. Even in 1844, when his literary reputation was established se-curely, he wrote to a friend expressing his pleasure because a mag-azine to which he was to contribute had agreed to pay him $ 20monthly for two pages of criticism.

Those were discouraging times in American literature, but Poenever lost faith. He was finally to triumph wherever pre-eminenttalents win admirers. His genius has had no better description thanin this stanza from William Winter’s poem, read at the dedicationexercises of the Actors’ Monument to Poe, May 4, 1885, in NewYork:

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He was the voice of beauty and of woe,Passion and mystery and the dread unknown;Pure as the mountains of perpetual snow,Cold as the icy winds that round them moan,Dark as the eaves wherein earth’s thunders groan,Wild as the tempests of the upper sky,Sweet as the faint, far-off celestial tone of angelwhispers, fluttering from on high,And tender as love’s tear when youth and beauty die.

In the two and a half score years that have elapsedsince Poe’s death he has come fully into his own. Fora while Griswold’s malignant misrepresentations col-ored the public estimate of Poe as man and as writer.But, thanks to J. H. Ingram, W. F. Gill, Eugene Didier,Sarah Helen Whitman and others these scandals havebeen dispelled and Poe is seen as he actually was-not asa man without failings, it is true, but as the finest andmost original genius in American letters. As the yearsgo on his fame increases. His works have been trans-lated into many foreign languages. His is a householdname in France and England-in fact, the latter nationhas often uttered the reproach that Poe’s own countryhas been slow to appreciate him. But that reproach, if itever was warranted, certainly is untrue.W. H. R.

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BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

The situation of American literature is anomalous. It has no centre,or, if it have, it is like that of the sphere of Hermes. It is, dividedinto many systems, each revolving round its several suns, and oftenpresenting to the rest only the faint glimmer of a milk-and-waterway. Our capital city, unlike London or Paris, is not a great cen-tral heart from which life and vigor radiate to the extremities, butresembles more an isolated umbilicus stuck down as near as maybe to the centre of the land, and seeming rather to tell a legend offormer usefulness than to serve any present need. Boston, NewYork, Philadelphia, each has its literature almost more distinct thanthose of the different dialects of Germany; and the Young Queen ofthe West has also one of her own, of which some articulate rumorbarely has reached us dwellers by the Atlantic.

Perhaps there is no task more difficult than the just criticism ofcontemporary literature. It is even more grateful to give praisewhere it is needed than where it is deserved, and friendship sooften seduces the iron stylus of justice into a vague flourish, thatshe writes what seems rather like an epitaph than a criticism. Yetif praise be given as an alms, we could not drop so poisonous aone into any man’s hat. The critic’s ink may suffer equally fromtoo large an infusion of nutgalls or of sugar. But it is easier to begenerous than to be just, and we might readily put faith in that fab-ulous direction to the hiding place of truth, did we judge from theamount of water which we usually find mixed with it.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

Remarkable experiences are usually confined to the inner life ofimaginative men, but Mr. Poe’s biography displays a vicissitudeand peculiarity of interest such as is rarely met with. The offspringof a romantic marriage, and left an orphan at an early age, he wasadopted by Mr. Allan, a wealthy Virginian, whose barren marriage-bed seemed the warranty of a large estate to the young poet.

Having received a classical education in England, he returnedhome and entered the University of Virginia, where, after an extrav-agant course, followed by reformation at the last extremity, he wasgraduated with the highest honors of his class. Then came a boyishattempt to join the fortunes of the insurgent Greeks, which endedat St. Petersburg, where he got into difficulties through want of apassport, from which he was rescued by the American consul andsent home. He now entered the military academy at West Point,from which he obtained a dismissal on hearing of the birth of a sonto his adopted father, by a second marriage, an event which cut offhis expectations as an heir. The death of Mr. Allan, in whose willhis name was not mentioned, soon after relieved him of all doubtin this regard, and he committed himself at once to authorship fora support. Previously to this, however, he had published (in 1827)a small volume of poems, which soon ran through three editions,and excited high expectations of its author’s future distinction inthe minds of many competent judges.

That no certain augury can be drawn from a poet’s earliest lisp-ings there are instances enough to prove. Shakespeare’s first po-ems, though brimful of vigor and youth and picturesqueness, givebut a very faint promise of the directness, condensation and over-flowing moral of his maturer works. Perhaps, however, Shake-speare is hardly a case in point, his "Venus and Adonis" havingbeen published, we believe, in his twenty-sixth year. Milton’s Latinverses show tenderness, a fine eye for nature, and a delicate ap-preciation of classic models, but give no hint of the author of anew style in poetry. Pope’s youthful pieces have all the sing-song,wholly unrelieved by the glittering malignity and eloquent irreli-gion of his later productions. Collins’ callow namby-pamby diedand gave no sign of the vigorous and original genius which he af-terward displayed. We have never thought that the world lost morein the "marvellous boy," Chatterton, than a very ingenious imitatorof obscure and antiquated dulness. Where he becomes original (as

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it is called), the interest of ingenuity ceases and he becomes stupid.Kirke White’s promises were indorsed by the respectable name ofMr. Southey, but surely with no authority from Apollo. They havethe merit of a traditional piety, which to our mind, if uttered at all,had been less objectionable in the retired closet of a diary, and in thesober raiment of prose. They do not clutch hold of the memory withthe drowning pertinacity of Watts; neither have they the interest ofhis occasional simple, lucky beauty. Burns having fortunately beenrescued by his humble station from the contaminating society of the"Best models," wrote well and naturally from the first. Had he beenunfortunate enough to have had an educated taste, we should havehad a series of poems from which, as from his letters, we couldsift here and there a kernel from the mass of chaff. Coleridge’syouthful efforts give no promise whatever of that poetical geniuswhich produced at once the wildest, tenderest, most original andmost purely imaginative poems of modern times. Byron’s "Hoursof Idleness" would never find a reader except from an intrepid andindefatigable curiosity. In Wordsworth’s first preludings there isbut a dim foreboding of the creator of an era. From Southey’s earlypoems, a safer augury might have been drawn. They show the pa-tient investigator, the close student of history, and the unweariedexplorer of the beauties of predecessors, but they give no assur-ances of a man who should add aught to stock of household words,or to the rarer and more sacred delights of the fireside or the ar-bor. The earliest specimens of Shelley’s poetic mind already, also,give tokens of that ethereal sublimation in which the spirit seems tosoar above the regions of words, but leaves its body, the verse, to beentombed, without hope of resurrection, in a mass of them. Cow-ley is generally instanced as a wonder of precocity. But his earlyinsipidities show only a capacity for rhyming and for the metricalarrangement of certain conventional combinations of words, a ca-pacity wholly dependent on a delicate physical organization, andan unhappy memory. An early poem is only remarkable when itdisplays an effort of reason, and the rudest verses in which we cantrace some conception of the ends of poetry, are worth all the mira-cles of smooth juvenile versification. A school-boy, one would say,might acquire the regular see-saw of Pope merely by an associationwith the motion of the play-ground tilt.

Mr. Poe’s early productions show that he could see through the

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verse to the spirit beneath, and that he already had a feeling thatall the life and grace of the one must depend on and be modulatedby the will of the other. We call them the most remarkable boyishpoems that we have ever read. We know of none that can com-pare with them for maturity of purpose, and a nice understandingof the effects of language and metre. Such pieces are only valuablewhen they display what we can only express by the contradictoryphrase of innate experience. We copy one of the shorter poems, writ-ten when the author was only fourteen. There is a little dimness inthe filling up, but the grace and symmetry of the outline are suchas few poets ever attain. There is a smack of ambrosia about it.

TO HELENHelen, thy beauty is to meLike those Nicean barks of yore,That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,The weary, way-worn wanderer boreTo his own native shore.On desperate seas long wont to roam,Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,Thy Naiad airs have brought me homeTo the glory that was GreeceAnd the grandeur that was Rome.Lo! in yon brilliant window-nicheHow statue-like I see thee stand!The agate lamp within thy hand,Ah! Psyche, from the regions whichAre Holy Land!

It is the tendency of the young poet that impresses us. Here is no"withering scorn," no heart "blighted" ere it has safely got into itsteens, none of the drawing-room sansculottism which Byron hadbrought into vogue. All is limpid and serene, with a pleasant dashof the Greek Helicon in it. The melody of the whole, too, is remark-able. It is not of that kind which can be demonstrated arithmeticallyupon the tips of the fingers. It is of that finer sort which the innerear alone can estimate. It seems simple, like a Greek column, be-cause of its perfection. In a poem named "Ligeia," under which title

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he intended to personify the music of nature, our boy-poet gives usthe following exquisite picture:

Ligeia! Ligeia!My beautiful one,Whose harshest ideaWill to melody run,Say, is it thy will,On the breezes to toss,Or, capriciously still,Like the lone albatross,Incumbent on night,As she on the air,To keep watch with delightOn the harmony there?

John Neal, himself a man of genius, and whose lyre has beentoo long capriciously silent, appreciated the high merit of these andsimilar passages, and drew a proud horoscope for their author.

Mr. Poe had that indescribable something which men haveagreed to call genius. No man could ever tell us precisely what itis, and yet there is none who is not inevitably aware of its presenceand its power. Let talent writhe and contort itself as it may, it hasno such magnetism. Larger of bone and sinew it may be, but thewings are wanting. Talent sticks fast to earth, and its most perfectworks have still one foot of clay. Genius claims kindred with thevery workings of Nature herself, so that a sunset shall seem like aquotation from Dante, and if Shakespeare be read in the very pres-ence of the sea itself, his verses shall but seem nobler for the sublimecriticism of ocean. Talent may make friends for itself, but only ge-nius can give to its creations the divine power of winning love andveneration. Enthusiasm cannot cling to what itself is unenthusias-tic, nor will he ever have disciples who has not himself impulsivezeal enough to be a disciple. Great wits are allied to madness onlyinasmuch as they are possessed and carried away by their demon,While talent keeps him, as Paracelsus did, securely prisoned in thepommel of his sword. To the eye of genius, the veil of the spiri-tual world is ever rent asunder that it may perceive the ministers of

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good and evil who throng continually around it. No man of meretalent ever flung his inkstand at the devil.

When we say that Mr. Poe had genius, we do not mean to saythat he has produced evidence of the highest. But to say that hepossesses it at all is to say that he needs only zeal, industry, and areverence for the trust reposed in him, to achieve the proudest tri-umphs and the greenest laurels. If we may believe the Longinuses;and Aristotles of our newspapers, we have quite too many geniusesof the loftiest order to render a place among them at all desirable,whether for its hardness of attainment or its seclusion. The highestpeak of our Parnassus is, according to these gentlemen, by far themost thickly settled portion of the country, a circumstance whichmust make it an uncomfortable residence for individuals of a po-etical temperament, if love of solitude be, as immemorial traditionasserts, a necessary part of their idiosyncrasy.

Mr. Poe has two of the prime qualities of genius, a faculty ofvigorous yet minute analysis, and a wonderful fecundity of imagi-nation. The first of these faculties is as needful to the artist in words,as a knowledge of anatomy is to the artist in colors or in stone. Thisenables him to conceive truly, to maintain a proper relation of parts,and to draw a correct outline, while the second groups, fills up andcolors. Both of these Mr. Poe has displayed with singular distinct-ness in his prose works, the last predominating in his earlier tales,and the first in his later ones. In judging of the merit of an author,and assigning him his niche among our household gods, we havea right to regard him from our own point of view, and to measurehim by our own standard. But, in estimating the amount of powerdisplayed in his works, we must be governed by his own design,and placing them by the side of his own ideal, find how much iswanting. We differ from Mr. Poe in his opinions of the objects ofart. He esteems that object to be the creation of Beauty, and per-haps it is only in the definition of that word that we disagree withhim. But in what we shall say of his writings, we shall take his ownstandard as our guide. The temple of the god of song is equally ac-cessible from every side, and there is room enough in it for all whobring offerings, or seek in oracle.

In his tales, Mr. Poe has chosen to exhibit his power chiefly inthat dim region which stretches from the very utmost limits of theprobable into the weird confines of superstition and unreality. He

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combines in a very remarkable manner two faculties which are sel-dom found united; a power of influencing the mind of the readerby the impalpable shadows of mystery, and a minuteness of de-tail which does not leave a pin or a button unnoticed. Both are, intruth, the natural results of the predominating quality of his mind,to which we have before alluded, analysis. It is this which distin-guishes the artist. His mind at once reaches forward to the effect tobe produced. Having resolved to bring about certain emotions inthe reader, he makes all subordinate parts tend strictly to the com-mon centre. Even his mystery is mathematical to his own mind. Tohim X is a known quantity all along. In any picture that he paintshe understands the chemical properties of all his colors. Howevervague some of his figures may seem, however formless the shad-ows, to him the outline is as clear and distinct as that of a geo-metrical diagram. For this reason Mr. Poe has no sympathy withMysticism. The Mystic dwells in the mystery, is enveloped with it;it colors all his thoughts; it affects his optic nerve especially, andthe commonest things get a rainbow edging from it. Mr. Poe, onthe other hand, is a spectator ab extra. He analyzes, he dissects, hewatches

"with an eye serene,The very pulse of the machine,"

for such it practically is to him, with wheels and cogs and piston-rods, all working to produce a certain end.

This analyzing tendency of his mind balances the poetical, andby giving him the patience to be minute, enables him to throw awonderful reality into his most unreal fancies. A monomania hepaints with great power. He loves to dissect one of these cancersof the mind, and to trace all the subtle ramifications of its roots. Inraising images of horror, also, he has strange success, conveyingto us sometimes by a dusky hint some terrible doubt which is thesecret of all horror. He leaves to imagination the task of finishingthe picture, a task to which only she is competent.

"For much imaginary work was there;Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,That for Achilles’ image stood his spear

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Grasped in an armed hand; himself behindWas left unseen, save to the eye of mind."

Besides the merit of conception, Mr. Poe’s writings have also thatof form.

His style is highly finished, graceful and truly classical. It wouldbe hard to find a living author who had displayed such variedpowers. As an example of his style we would refer to one of histales, "The House of Usher," in the first volume of his "Tales of theGrotesque and Arabesque." It has a singular charm for us, and wethink that no one could read it without being strongly moved by itsserene and sombre beauty. Had its author written nothing else, itwould alone have been enough to stamp him as a man of genius,and the master of a classic style. In this tale occurs, perhaps, themost beautiful of his poems.

The great masters of imagination have seldom resorted to thevague and the unreal as sources of effect. They have not used dreadand horror alone, but only in combination with other qualities, asmeans of subjugating the fancies of their readers. The loftiest musehas ever a household and fireside charm about her. Mr. Poe’s se-cret lies mainly in the skill with which he has employed the strangefascination of mystery and terror. In this his success is so great andstriking as to deserve the name of art, not artifice. We cannot callhis materials the noblest or purest, but we must concede to him thehighest merit of construction.

As a critic, Mr. Poe was aesthetically deficient. Unerring in hisanalysis of dictions, metres and plots, he seemed wanting in thefaculty of perceiving the profounder ethics of art. His criticismsare, however, distinguished for scientific precision and coherenceof logic. They have the exactness, and at the same time, the cold-ness of mathematical demonstrations. Yet they stand in strikinglyrefreshing contrast with the vague generalisms and sharp person-alities of the day. If deficient in warmth, they are also without theheat of partisanship. They are especially valuable as illustratingthe great truth, too generally overlooked, that analytic power is asubordinate quality of the critic.

On the whole, it may be considered certain that Mr. Poe has at-tained an individual eminence in our literature which he will keep.

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He has given proof of power and originality. He has done thatwhich could only be done once with success or safety, and the imi-tation or repetition of which would produce weariness.

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DEATH OF EDGAR A. POE

BY N. P. WILLIS

The ancient fable of two antagonistic spirits imprisoned in onebody, equally powerful and having the complete mastery by turns-of one man, that is to say, inhabited by both a devil and an angelseems to have been realized, if all we hear is true, in the characterof the extraordinary man whose name we have written above. Ourown impression of the nature of Edgar A. Poe, differs in some im-portant degree, however, from that which has been generally con-veyed in the notices of his death. Let us, before telling what wepersonally know of him, copy a graphic and highly finished por-traiture, from the pen of Dr. Rufus W. Griswold, which appeared ina recent number of the "Tribune":

"Edgar Allen Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore on Sunday, Oc-tober 7th. This announcement will startle many, but few will begrieved by it. The poet was known, personally or by reputation,in all this country; he had readers in England and in several of thestates of Continental Europe; but he had few or no friends; and theregrets for his death will be suggested principally by the consider-ation that in him literary art has lost one of its most brilliant buterratic stars.

"His conversation was at times almost supramortal in its elo-quence. His voice was modulated with astonishing skill, and hislarge and variably expressive eyes looked repose or shot fiery tu-mult into theirs who listened, while his own face glowed, or waschangeless in pallor, as his imagination quickened his blood or


drew it back frozen to his heart. His imagery was from the worldswhich no mortals can see but with the vision of genius. Suddenlystarting from a proposition, exactly and sharply defined, in terms ofutmost simplicity and clearness, he rejected the forms of customarylogic, and by a crystalline process of accretion, built up his oculardemonstrations in forms of gloomiest and ghastliest grandeur, orin those of the most airy and delicious beauty, so minutely and dis-tinctly, yet so rapidly, that the attention which was yielded to himwas chained till it stood among his wonderful creations, till he him-self dissolved the spell, and brought his hearers back to commonand base existence, by vulgar fancies or exhibitions of the ignoblestpassion.

"He was at all times a dreamer dwelling in ideal realms, inheaven or hell, peopled with the creatures and the accidents of hisbrain. He walked the streets, in madness or melancholy, with lipsmoving in indistinct curses, or with eyes upturned in passionateprayer (never for himself, for he felt, or professed to feel, that hewas already damned, but) for their happiness who at the momentwere objects of his idolatry; or with his glances introverted to aheart gnawed with anguish, and with a face shrouded in gloom,he would brave the wildest storms, and all night, with drenchedgarments and arms beating the winds and rains, would speak as ifthe spirits that at such times only could be evoked by him from theAidenn, close by whose portals his disturbed soul sought to forgetthe ills to which his constitution subjected him–close by the Aidennwhere were those he loved–the Aidenn which he might never see,but in fitful glimpses, as its gates opened to receive the less fieryand more happy natures whose destiny to sin did not involve thedoom of death.

"He seemed, except when some fitful pursuit subjugated his willand engrossed his faculties, always to bear the memory of somecontrolling sorrow. The remarkable poem of ’The Raven’ was prob-ably much more nearly than has been supposed, even by those whowere very intimate with him, a reflection and an echo of his ownhistory. He was that bird’s

"’Unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one bur-

den bore–

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Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden boreOf ’Never-never more.’

"Every genuine author in a greater or less degree leaves in hisworks, whatever their design, traces of his personal character: ele-ments of his immortal being, in which the individual survives theperson. While we read the pages of the ’Fall of the House of Usher,’or of ’Mesmeric Revelations,’ we see in the solemn and statelygloom which invests one, and in the subtle metaphysical analysisof both, indications of the idiosyncrasies of what was most remark-able and peculiar in the author’s intellectual nature. But we see hereonly the better phases of his nature, only the symbols of his justeraction, for his harsh experience had deprived him of all faith in manor woman. He had made up his mind upon the numberless com-plexities of the social world, and the whole system with him was animposture. This conviction gave a direction to his shrewd and natu-rally unamiable character. Still, though he regarded society as com-posed altogether of villains, the sharpness of his intellect was notof that kind which enabled him to cope with villany, while it con-tinually caused him by overshots to fail of the success of honesty.He was in many respects like Francis Vivian in Bulwer’s novel of’The Caxtons.’ Passion, in him, comprehended–many of the worstemotions which militate against human happiness. You could notcontradict him, but you raised quick choler; you could not speakof wealth, but his cheek paled with gnawing envy. The astonish-ing natural advantages of this poor boy–his beauty, his readiness,the daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmosphere–had raised his constitutional self-confidence into an arrogance thatturned his very claims to admiration into prejudices against him.Irascible, envious–bad enough, but not the worst, for these salientangles were all varnished over with a cold, repellant cynicism, hispassions vented themselves in sneers. There seemed to him nomoral susceptibility; and, what was more remarkable in a proudnature, little or nothing of the true point of honor. He had, to amorbid excess, that, desire to rise which is vulgarly called ambi-tion, but no wish for the esteem or the love of his species; only thehard wish to succeed-not shine, not serve–succeed, that he mighthave the right to despise a world which galled his self-conceit.

"We have suggested the influence of his aims and vicissitudesupon his literature. It was more conspicuous in his later than in

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his earlier writings. Nearly all that he wrote in the last two orthree years-including much of his best poetry-was in some sensebiographical; in draperies of his imagination, those who had takenthe trouble to trace his steps, could perceive, but slightly concealed,the figure of himself."

Apropos of the disparaging portion of the above well-writtensketch, let us truthfully say:

Some four or five years since, when editing a daily paper in thiscity, Mr. Poe was employed by us, for several months, as critic andsub-editor. This was our first personal acquaintance with him. Heresided with his wife and mother at Fordham, a few miles out oftown, but was at his desk in the office, from nine in the morningtill the evening paper went to press. With the highest admirationfor his genius, and a willingness to let it atone for more than ordi-nary irregularity, we were led by common report to expect a verycapricious attention to his duties, and occasionally a scene of vio-lence and difficulty. Time went on, however, and he was invariablypunctual and industrious. With his pale, beautiful, and intellectualface, as a reminder of what genius was in him, it was impossible,of course, not to treat him always with deferential courtesy, and, toour occasional request that he would not probe too deep in a criti-cism, or that he would erase a passage colored too highly with hisresentments against society and mankind, he readily and courte-ously assented-far more yielding than most men, we thought, onpoints so excusably sensitive. With a prospect of taking the leadin another periodical, he, at last, voluntarily gave up his employ-ment with us, and, through all this considerable period, we hadseen but one presentment of the man-a quiet, patient, industrious,and most gentlemanly person, commanding the utmost respect andgood feeling by his unvarying deportment and ability.

Residing as he did in the country, we never met Mr. Poe in hoursof leisure; but he frequently called on us afterward at our place ofbusiness, and we met him often in the street-invariably the samesad mannered, winning and refined gentleman, such as we had al-ways known him. It was by rumor only, up to the day of his death,that we knew of any other development of manner or character. Weheard, from one who knew him well (what should be stated in allmention of his lamentable irregularities), that, with a single glassof wine, his whole nature was reversed, the demon became upper-

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most, and, though none of the usual signs of intoxication were vis-ible, his will was palpably insane. Possessing his reasoning facul-ties in excited activity, at such times, and seeking his acquaintanceswith his wonted look and memory, he easily seemed personatingonly another phase of his natural character, and was accused, ac-cordingly, of insulting arrogance and bad-heartedness. In this re-versed character, we repeat, it was never our chance to see him.We know it from hearsay, and we mention it in connection withthis sad infirmity of physical constitution; which puts it upon verynearly the ground of a temporary and almost irresponsible insanity.

The arrogance, vanity, and depravity of heart, of which Mr. Poewas generally accused, seem to us referable altogether to this re-versed phase of his character. Under that degree of intoxicationwhich only acted upon him by demonizing his sense of truth andright, he doubtless said and did much that was wholly irreconcil-able with his better nature; but, when himself, and as we knew himonly, his modesty and unaffected humility, as to his own deserv-ings, were a constant charm to his character. His letters, of whichthe constant application for autographs has taken from us, we aresorry to confess, the greater portion, exhibited this quality verystrongly. In one of the carelessly written notes of which we chancestill to retain possession, for instance, he speaks of "The Raven"–that extraordinary poem which electrified the world of imaginativereaders, and has become the type of a school of poetry of its own-and, in evident earnest, attributes its success to the few words ofcommendation with which we had prefaced it in this paper.–It willthrow light on his sane character to give a literal copy of the note:

"FORDHAM, April 20, 1849"My DEAR WILLIS–The poem which I inclose, and which I am so vain asto hope you will like, in some respects, has been justpublished in a paper for which sheer necessity compelsme to write, now and then. It pays well as times go-butunquestionably it ought to pay ten prices; for whateverI send it I feel I am consigning to the tomb of the Ca-pulets. The verses accompanying this, may I beg youto take out of the tomb, and bring them to light in the

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’Home journal?’ If you can oblige me so far as to copythem, I do not think it will be necessary to say ’From the—-, that would be too bad; and, perhaps, ’From a late—- paper,’ would do.

"I have not forgotten how a ’good word in season’ fromyou made ’The Raven,’ and made ’Ulalume’ (which by-the-way, people have done me the honor of attributingto you), therefore, I would ask you (if I dared) to saysomething of these lines if they please you.

"Truly yours ever,

"EDGAR A. POE."

In double proof of his earnest disposition to do the best for him-self, and of the trustful and grateful nature which has been deniedhim, we give another of the only three of his notes which we chanceto retain:

"FORDHAM, January 22, 1848.

"My DEAR MR. WILLIS–

I am about to make an effort at re-establishing myselfin the literary world, and feel that I may depend uponyour aid.

"My general aim is to start a Magazine, to be called ’TheStylus,’ but it would be useless to me, even when estab-lished, if not entirely out of the control of a publisher. Imean, therefore, to get up a journal which shall be myown at all points. With this end in view, I must get alist of at least five hundred subscribers to begin with;nearly two hundred I have already. I propose, however,to go South and West, among my personal and literaryfriends–old college and West Point acquaintances–andsee what I can do. In order to get the means of takingthe first step, I propose to lecture at the Society Library,on Thursday, the 3d of February, and, that there may beno cause of squabbling, my subject shall not be literaryat all. I have chosen a broad text: ’The Universe.’

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"Having thus given you the facts of the case, I leave allthe rest to the suggestions of your own tact and generos-ity. Gratefully, most gratefully,"Your friend always,"EDGAR A. POE."

Brief and chance-taken as these letters are, we think they suffi-ciently prove the existence of the very qualities denied to Mr. Poe-humility, willingness to persevere, belief in another’s friendship,and capability of cordial and grateful friendship! Such he assuredlywas when sane. Such only he has invariably seemed to us, in all wehave happened personally to know of him, through a friendship offive or six years. And so much easier is it to believe what we haveseen and known, than what we hear of only, that we remember himbut with admiration and respect; these descriptions of him, whenmorally insane, seeming to us like portraits, painted in sickness, ofa man we have only known in health.

But there is another, more touching, and far more forcible evi-dence that there was goodness in Edgar A. Poe. To reveal it we areobliged to venture upon the lifting of the veil which sacredly coversgrief and refinement in poverty; but we think it may be excused, ifso we can brighten the memory of the poet, even were there nota more needed and immediate service which it may render to thenearest link broken by his death.

Our first knowledge of Mr. Poe’s removal to this city was by acall which we received from a lady who introduced herself to usas the mother of his wife. She was in search of employment forhim, and she excused her errand by mentioning that he was ill, thather daughter was a confirmed invalid, and that their circumstanceswere such as compelled her taking it upon herself. The countenanceof this lady, made beautiful and saintly with an evidently completegiving up of her life to privation and sorrowful tenderness, her gen-tle and mournful voice urging its plea, her long-forgotten but ha-bitually and unconsciously refined manners, and her appealing andyet appreciative mention of the claims and abilities of her son, dis-closed at once the presence of one of those angels upon earth thatwomen in adversity can be. It was a hard fate that she was watch-ing over. Mr. Poe wrote with fastidious difficulty, and in a style

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too much above the popular level to be well paid. He was alwaysin pecuniary difficulty, and, with his sick wife, frequently in wantof the merest necessaries of life. Winter after winter, for years, themost touching sight to us, in this whole city, has been that tirelessminister to genius, thinly and insufficiently clad, going from officeto office with a poem, or an article on some literary subject, to sell,sometimes simply pleading in a broken voice that he was ill, andbegging for him, mentioning nothing but that "he was ill," whatevermight be the reason for his writing nothing, and never, amid all hertears and recitals of distress, suffering one syllable to escape herlips that could convey a doubt of him, or a complaint, or a lessen-ing of pride in his genius and good intentions. Her daughter died ayear and a half since, but she did not desert him. She continued hisministering angel–living with him, caring for him, guarding himagainst exposure, and when he was carried away by temptation,amid grief and the loneliness of feelings unreplied to, and awokefrom his self abandonment prostrated in destitution and suffering,begging for him still. If woman’s devotion, born with a first love,and fed with human passion, hallow its object, as it is allowed todo, what does not a devotion like this-pure, disinterested and holyas the watch of an invisible spirit-say for him who inspired it?

We have a letter before us, written by this lady, Mrs. Clemm,on the morning in which she heard of the death of this object of heruntiring care. It is merely a request that we would call upon her, butwe will copy a few of its words–sacred as its privacy is–to warrantthe truth of the picture we have drawn above, and add force to theappeal we wish to make for her:

"I have this morning heard of the death of my darling Eddie....Can you give me any circumstances or particulars?... Oh! do notdesert your poor friend in his bitter affliction!... Ask Mr. —- tocome, as I must deliver a message to him from my poor Eddie....I need not ask you to notice his death and to speak well of him. Iknow you will. But say what an affectionate son he was to me, hispoor desolate mother..."

To hedge round a grave with respect, what choice is there, be-tween the relinquished wealth and honors of the world, and thestory of such a woman’s unrewarded devotion! Risking what wedo, in delicacy, by making it public, we feel–other reasons aside–that it betters the world to make known that there are such minis-

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trations to its erring and gifted. What we have said will speak tosome hearts. There are those who will be glad to know how thelamp, whose light of poetry has beamed on their far-away recogni-tion, was watched over with care and pain, that they may send toher, who is more darkened than they by its extinction, some tokenof their sympathy. She is destitute and alone. If any, far or near,will send to us what may aid and cheer her through the remainderof her life, we will joyfully place it in her hands.

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THE UNPARALLELED

ADVENTURES OF ONE HANS

PFAAL

By late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to be in ahigh state of philosophical excitement. Indeed, phenomena havethere occurred of a nature so completely unexpected—so entirelynovel—so utterly at variance with preconceived opinions—as toleave no doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in anuproar, all physics in a ferment, all reason and astronomy togetherby the ears.

It appears that on the—— day of—— (I am not positive aboutthe date), a vast crowd of people, for purposes not specifi-cally mentioned, were assembled in the great square of the Ex-change in the well-conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day waswarm—unusually so for the season—there was hardly a breath ofair stirring; and the multitude were in no bad humor at being nowand then besprinkled with friendly showers of momentary dura-tion, that fell from large white masses of cloud which chequeredin a fitful manner the blue vault of the firmament. Nevertheless,about noon, a slight but remarkable agitation became apparent inthe assembly: the clattering of ten thousand tongues succeeded;and, in an instant afterward, ten thousand faces were upturned to-ward the heavens, ten thousand pipes descended simultaneouslyfrom the corners of ten thousand mouths, and a shout, which couldbe compared to nothing but the roaring of Niagara, resounded long,loudly, and furiously, through all the environs of Rotterdam.

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THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURES OF ONE HANS PFAAL

The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently evident. Frombehind the huge bulk of one of those sharply-defined masses ofcloud already mentioned, was seen slowly to emerge into an openarea of blue space, a queer, heterogeneous, but apparently solidsubstance, so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as notto be in any manner comprehended, and never to be sufficientlyadmired, by the host of sturdy burghers who stood open-mouthedbelow. What could it be? In the name of all the vrows and devils inRotterdam, what could it possibly portend? No one knew, no onecould imagine; no one—not even the burgomaster Mynheer Super-bus Von Underduk—had the slightest clew by which to unravel themystery; so, as nothing more reasonable could be done, every oneto a man replaced his pipe carefully in the corner of his mouth,and cocking up his right eye towards the phenomenon, puffed,paused, waddled about, and grunted significantly—then waddledback, grunted, paused, and finally—puffed again.

In the meantime, however, lower and still lower toward thegoodly city, came the object of so much curiosity, and the causeof so much smoke. In a very few minutes it arrived near enough tobe accurately discerned. It appeared to be—yes! it was undoubt-edly a species of balloon; but surely no such balloon had ever beenseen in Rotterdam before. For who, let me ask, ever heard of aballoon manufactured entirely of dirty newspapers? No man inHolland certainly; yet here, under the very noses of the people, orrather at some distance above their noses was the identical thingin question, and composed, I have it on the best authority, of theprecise material which no one had ever before known to be usedfor a similar purpose. It was an egregious insult to the good senseof the burghers of Rotterdam. As to the shape of the phenomenon,it was even still more reprehensible. Being little or nothing betterthan a huge foolscap turned upside down. And this similitude wasregarded as by no means lessened when, upon nearer inspection,there was perceived a large tassel depending from its apex, and,around the upper rim or base of the cone, a circle of little instru-ments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept up a continual tinklingto the tune of Betty Martin. But still worse. Suspended by blue rib-bons to the end of this fantastic machine, there hung, by way of car,an enormous drab beaver hat, with a brim superlatively broad, anda hemispherical crown with a black band and a silver buckle. It is,

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however, somewhat remarkable that many citizens of Rotterdamswore to having seen the same hat repeatedly before; and indeedthe whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes of familiarity;while the vrow Grettel Pfaall, upon sight of it, uttered an exclama-tion of joyful surprise, and declared it to be the identical hat of hergood man himself. Now this was a circumstance the more to be ob-served, as Pfaall, with three companions, had actually disappearedfrom Rotterdam about five years before, in a very sudden and unac-countable manner, and up to the date of this narrative all attemptshad failed of obtaining any intelligence concerning them whatso-ever. To be sure, some bones which were thought to be human,mixed up with a quantity of odd-looking rubbish, had been latelydiscovered in a retired situation to the east of Rotterdam, and somepeople went so far as to imagine that in this spot a foul murder hadbeen committed, and that the sufferers were in all probability HansPfaall and his associates. But to return.

The balloon (for such no doubt it was) had now descended towithin a hundred feet of the earth, allowing the crowd below a suf-ficiently distinct view of the person of its occupant. This was intruth a very droll little somebody. He could not have been morethan two feet in height; but this altitude, little as it was, would havebeen sufficient to destroy his equilibrium, and tilt him over the edgeof his tiny car, but for the intervention of a circular rim reaching ashigh as the breast, and rigged on to the cords of the balloon. Thebody of the little man was more than proportionately broad, givingto his entire figure a rotundity highly absurd. His feet, of course,could not be seen at all, although a horny substance of suspiciousnature was occasionally protruded through a rent in the bottom ofthe car, or to speak more properly, in the top of the hat. His handswere enormously large. His hair was extremely gray, and collectedin a cue behind. His nose was prodigiously long, crooked, and in-flammatory; his eyes full, brilliant, and acute; his chin and cheeks,although wrinkled with age, were broad, puffy, and double; but ofears of any kind or character there was not a semblance to be dis-covered upon any portion of his head. This odd little gentlemanwas dressed in a loose surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight breechesto match, fastened with silver buckles at the knees. His vest was ofsome bright yellow material; a white taffety cap was set jauntily onone side of his head; and, to complete his equipment, a blood-red

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silk handkerchief enveloped his throat, and fell down, in a daintymanner, upon his bosom, in a fantastic bow-knot of super-eminentdimensions.

Having descended, as I said before, to about one hundred feetfrom the surface of the earth, the little old gentleman was sud-denly seized with a fit of trepidation, and appeared disinclined tomake any nearer approach to terra firma. Throwing out, therefore,a quantity of sand from a canvas bag, which, he lifted with greatdifficulty, he became stationary in an instant. He then proceeded,in a hurried and agitated manner, to extract from a side-pocket inhis surtout a large morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspi-ciously in his hand, then eyed it with an air of extreme surprise,and was evidently astonished at its weight. He at length opened it,and drawing there from a huge letter sealed with red sealing-waxand tied carefully with red tape, let it fall precisely at the feet of theburgomaster, Superbus Von Underduk. His Excellency stooped totake it up. But the aeronaut, still greatly discomposed, and havingapparently no farther business to detain him in Rotterdam, began atthis moment to make busy preparations for departure; and it beingnecessary to discharge a portion of ballast to enable him to reas-cend, the half dozen bags which he threw out, one after another,without taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, everyone of them, most unfortunately upon the back of the burgomaster,and rolled him over and over no less than one-and-twenty times,in the face of every man in Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed,however, that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on thepart of the little old man to pass off with impunity. It is said, on thecontrary, that during each and every one of his one-and twenty cir-cumvolutions he emitted no less than one-and-twenty distinct andfurious whiffs from his pipe, to which he held fast the whole timewith all his might, and to which he intends holding fast until theday of his death.

In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and, soaring faraway above the city, at length drifted quietly behind a cloud similarto that from which it had so oddly emerged, and was thus lost for-ever to the wondering eyes of the good citizens of Rotterdam. Allattention was now directed to the letter, the descent of which, andthe consequences attending thereupon, had proved so fatally sub-versive of both person and personal dignity to his Excellency, the

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illustrious Burgomaster Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk. Thatfunctionary, however, had not failed, during his circumgyratorymovements, to bestow a thought upon the important subject of se-curing the packet in question, which was seen, upon inspection, tohave fallen into the most proper hands, being actually addressedto himself and Professor Rub-a-dub, in their official capacities ofPresident and Vice-President of the Rotterdam College of Astron-omy. It was accordingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot,and found to contain the following extraordinary, and indeed veryserious, communications.

To their Excellencies Von Underduk and Rub-a-dub,President and Vice-President of the States’ College ofAstronomers, in the city of Rotterdam.“Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to rememberan humble artizan, by name Hans Pfaall, and by oc-cupation a mender of bellows, who, with three others,disappeared from Rotterdam, about five years ago, in amanner which must have been considered by all partiesat once sudden, and extremely unaccountable. If, how-ever, it so please your Excellencies, I, the writer of thiscommunication, am the identical Hans Pfaall himself.It is well known to most of my fellow citizens, that forthe period of forty years I continued to occupy the lit-tle square brick building, at the head of the alley calledSauerkraut, in which I resided at the time of my disap-pearance. My ancestors have also resided therein timeout of mind—they, as well as myself, steadily follow-ing the respectable and indeed lucrative profession ofmending of bellows. For, to speak the truth, until oflate years, that the heads of all the people have beenset agog with politics, no better business than my owncould an honest citizen of Rotterdam either desire or de-serve. Credit was good, employment was never want-ing, and on all hands there was no lack of either moneyor good-will. But, as I was saying, we soon began tofeel the effects of liberty and long speeches, and radi-calism, and all that sort of thing. People who were for-merly, the very best customers in the world, had now

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not a moment of time to think of us at all. They had,so they said, as much as they could do to read aboutthe revolutions, and keep up with the march of intel-lect and the spirit of the age. If a fire wanted fanning,it could readily be fanned with a newspaper, and as thegovernment grew weaker, I have no doubt that leatherand iron acquired durability in proportion, for, in a veryshort time, there was not a pair of bellows in all Rotter-dam that ever stood in need of a stitch or required theassistance of a hammer. This was a state of things notto be endured. I soon grew as poor as a rat, and, hav-ing a wife and children to provide for, my burdens atlength became intolerable, and I spent hour after hour inreflecting upon the most convenient method of puttingan end to my life. Duns, in the meantime, left me littleleisure for contemplation. My house was literally be-sieged from morning till night, so that I began to rave,and foam, and fret like a caged tiger against the barsof his enclosure. There were three fellows in particu-lar who worried me beyond endurance, keeping watchcontinually about my door, and threatening me with thelaw. Upon these three I internally vowed the bitterest re-venge, if ever I should be so happy as to get them withinmy clutches; and I believe nothing in the world but thepleasure of this anticipation prevented me from puttingmy plan of suicide into immediate execution, by blow-ing my brains out with a blunderbuss. I thought it best,however, to dissemble my wrath, and to treat them withpromises and fair words, until, by some good turn offate, an opportunity of vengeance should be affordedme.

“One day, having given my creditors the slip, and feel-ing more than usually dejected, I continued for a longtime to wander about the most obscure streets withoutobject whatever, until at length I chanced to stumbleagainst the corner of a bookseller’s stall. Seeing a chairclose at hand, for the use of customers, I threw myselfdoggedly into it, and, hardly knowing why, opened thepages of the first volume which came within my reach.

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It proved to be a small pamphlet treatise on SpeculativeAstronomy, written either by Professor Encke of Berlinor by a Frenchman of somewhat similar name. I hadsome little tincture of information on matters of this na-ture, and soon became more and more absorbed in thecontents of the book, reading it actually through twicebefore I awoke to a recollection of what was passingaround me. By this time it began to grow dark, and Idirected my steps toward home. But the treatise hadmade an indelible impression on my mind, and, as Isauntered along the dusky streets, I revolved carefullyover in my memory the wild and sometimes unintelli-gible reasonings of the writer. There are some particu-lar passages which affected my imagination in a power-ful and extraordinary manner. The longer I meditatedupon these the more intense grew the interest whichhad been excited within me. The limited nature of myeducation in general, and more especially my ignoranceon subjects connected with natural philosophy, so farfrom rendering me diffident of my own ability to com-prehend what I had read, or inducing me to mistrust themany vague notions which had arisen in consequence,merely served as a farther stimulus to imagination; andI was vain enough, or perhaps reasonable enough, todoubt whether those crude ideas which, arising in ill-regulated minds, have all the appearance, may not of-ten in effect possess all the force, the reality, and otherinherent properties, of instinct or intuition; whether, toproceed a step farther, profundity itself might not, inmatters of a purely speculative nature, be detected as alegitimate source of falsity and error. In other words,I believed, and still do believe, that truth, is frequentlyof its own essence, superficial, and that, in many cases,the depth lies more in the abysses where we seek her,than in the actual situations wherein she may be found.Nature herself seemed to afford me corroboration ofthese ideas. In the contemplation of the heavenly bod-ies it struck me forcibly that I could not distinguish astar with nearly as much precision, when I gazed on it

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with earnest, direct and undeviating attention, as whenI suffered my eye only to glance in its vicinity alone. Iwas not, of course, at that time aware that this apparentparadox was occasioned by the center of the visual areabeing less susceptible of feeble impressions of light thanthe exterior portions of the retina. This knowledge, andsome of another kind, came afterwards in the course ofan eventful five years, during which I have dropped theprejudices of my former humble situation in life, andforgotten the bellows-mender in far different occupa-tions. But at the epoch of which I speak, the analogywhich a casual observation of a star offered to the con-clusions I had already drawn, struck me with the forceof positive conformation, and I then finally made up mymind to the course which I afterwards pursued.“It was late when I reached home, and I went immedi-ately to bed. My mind, however, was too much occu-pied to sleep, and I lay the whole night buried in med-itation. Arising early in the morning, and contrivingagain to escape the vigilance of my creditors, I repairedeagerly to the bookseller’s stall, and laid out what littleready money I possessed, in the purchase of some vol-umes of Mechanics and Practical Astronomy. Havingarrived at home safely with these, I devoted every sparemoment to their perusal, and soon made such profi-ciency in studies of this nature as I thought sufficient forthe execution of my plan. In the intervals of this period,I made every endeavor to conciliate the three creditorswho had given me so much annoyance. In this I finallysucceeded—partly by selling enough of my householdfurniture to satisfy a moiety of their claim, and partlyby a promise of paying the balance upon completion ofa little project which I told them I had in view, and forassistance in which I solicited their services. By thesemeans—for they were ignorant men—I found little dif-ficulty in gaining them over to my purpose.“Matters being thus arranged, I contrived, by the aid ofmy wife and with the greatest secrecy and caution, todispose of what property I had remaining, and to bor-

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row, in small sums, under various pretences, and with-out paying any attention to my future means of repay-ment, no inconsiderable quantity of ready money. Withthe means thus accruing I proceeded to procure at inter-vals, cambric muslin, very fine, in pieces of twelve yardseach; twine; a lot of the varnish of caoutchouc; a largeand deep basket of wicker-work, made to order; andseveral other articles necessary in the construction andequipment of a balloon of extraordinary dimensions.This I directed my wife to make up as soon as possible,and gave her all requisite information as to the partic-ular method of proceeding. In the meantime I workedup the twine into a net-work of sufficient dimensions;rigged it with a hoop and the necessary cords; bought aquadrant, a compass, a spy-glass, a common barometerwith some important modifications, and two astronom-ical instruments not so generally known. I then tookopportunities of conveying by night, to a retired situ-ation east of Rotterdam, five iron-bound casks, to con-tain about fifty gallons each, and one of a larger size;six tinned ware tubes, three inches in diameter, prop-erly shaped, and ten feet in length; a quantity of a par-ticular metallic substance, or semi-metal, which I shallnot name, and a dozen demijohns of a very commonacid. The gas to be formed from these latter materials isa gas never yet generated by any other person than my-self—or at least never applied to any similar purpose.The secret I would make no difficulty in disclosing, butthat it of right belongs to a citizen of Nantz, in France,by whom it was conditionally communicated to myself.The same individual submitted to me, without beingat all aware of my intentions, a method of construct-ing balloons from the membrane of a certain animal,through which substance any escape of gas was nearlyan impossibility. I found it, however, altogether too ex-pensive, and was not sure, upon the whole, whethercambric muslin with a coating of gum caoutchouc, wasnot equally as good. I mention this circumstance, be-cause I think it probable that hereafter the individual

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in question may attempt a balloon ascension with thenovel gas and material I have spoken of, and I do notwish to deprive him of the honor of a very singular in-vention.“On the spot which I intended each of the smaller casksto occupy respectively during the inflation of the bal-loon, I privately dug a hole two feet deep; the holesforming in this manner a circle twenty-five feet in di-ameter. In the centre of this circle, being the station de-signed for the large cask, I also dug a hole three feet indepth. In each of the five smaller holes, I deposited acanister containing fifty pounds, and in the larger onea keg holding one hundred and fifty pounds, of cannonpowder. These—the keg and canisters—I connected in aproper manner with covered trains; and having let intoone of the canisters the end of about four feet of slowmatch, I covered up the hole, and placed the cask over it,leaving the other end of the match protruding about aninch, and barely visible beyond the cask. I then filled upthe remaining holes, and placed the barrels over themin their destined situation.“Besides the articles above enumerated, I conveyed tothe depot, and there secreted, one of M. Grimm’s im-provements upon the apparatus for condensation of theatmospheric air. I found this machine, however, to re-quire considerable alteration before it could be adaptedto the purposes to which I intended making it applica-ble. But, with severe labor and unremitting persever-ance, I at length met with entire success in all my prepa-rations. My balloon was soon completed. It wouldcontain more than forty thousand cubic feet of gas;would take me up easily, I calculated, with all my imple-ments, and, if I managed rightly, with one hundred andseventy-five pounds of ballast into the bargain. It hadreceived three coats of varnish, and I found the cambricmuslin to answer all the purposes of silk itself, quite asstrong and a good deal less expensive.“Everything being now ready, I exacted from my wifean oath of secrecy in relation to all my actions from

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the day of my first visit to the bookseller’s stall; andpromising, on my part, to return as soon as circum-stances would permit, I gave her what little money I hadleft, and bade her farewell. Indeed I had no fear on heraccount. She was what people call a notable woman,and could manage matters in the world without my as-sistance. I believe, to tell the truth, she always lookedupon me as an idle boy, a mere make-weight, good fornothing but building castles in the air, and was ratherglad to get rid of me. It was a dark night when I badeher good-bye, and taking with me, as aides-de-camp,the three creditors who had given me so much trouble,we carried the balloon, with the car and accoutrements,by a roundabout way, to the station where the other ar-ticles were deposited. We there found them all unmo-lested, and I proceeded immediately to business.

“It was the first of April. The night, as I said before,was dark; there was not a star to be seen; and a driz-zling rain, falling at intervals, rendered us very uncom-fortable. But my chief anxiety was concerning the bal-loon, which, in spite of the varnish with which it was de-fended, began to grow rather heavy with the moisture;the powder also was liable to damage. I therefore keptmy three duns working with great diligence, poundingdown ice around the central cask, and stirring the acidin the others. They did not cease, however, importun-ing me with questions as to what I intended to do withall this apparatus, and expressed much dissatisfactionat the terrible labor I made them undergo. They couldnot perceive, so they said, what good was likely to re-sult from their getting wet to the skin, merely to take apart in such horrible incantations. I began to get uneasy,and worked away with all my might, for I verily believethe idiots supposed that I had entered into a compactwith the devil, and that, in short, what I was now do-ing was nothing better than it should be. I was, there-fore, in great fear of their leaving me altogether. I con-trived, however, to pacify them by promises of paymentof all scores in full, as soon as I could bring the present

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business to a termination. To these speeches they gave,of course, their own interpretation; fancying, no doubt,that at all events I should come into possession of vastquantities of ready money; and provided I paid them allI owed, and a trifle more, in consideration of their ser-vices, I dare say they cared very little what became ofeither my soul or my carcass.“In about four hours and a half I found the balloon suffi-ciently inflated. I attached the car, therefore, and put allmy implements in it—not forgetting the condensing ap-paratus, a copious supply of water, and a large quantityof provisions, such as pemmican, in which much nu-triment is contained in comparatively little bulk. I alsosecured in the car a pair of pigeons and a cat. It was nownearly daybreak, and I thought it high time to take mydeparture. Dropping a lighted cigar on the ground, as ifby accident, I took the opportunity, in stooping to pick itup, of igniting privately the piece of slow match, whoseend, as I said before, protruded a very little beyond thelower rim of one of the smaller casks. This manoeuvrewas totally unperceived on the part of the three duns;and, jumping into the car, I immediately cut the singlecord which held me to the earth, and was pleased to findthat I shot upward, carrying with all ease one hundredand seventy-five pounds of leaden ballast, and able tohave carried up as many more.“Scarcely, however, had I attained the height of fiftyyards, when, roaring and rumbling up after me in themost horrible and tumultuous manner, came so densea hurricane of fire, and smoke, and sulphur, and legsand arms, and gravel, and burning wood, and blazingmetal, that my very heart sunk within me, and I felldown in the bottom of the car, trembling with unmiti-gated terror. Indeed, I now perceived that I had entirelyoverdone the business, and that the main consequencesof the shock were yet to be experienced. Accordingly,in less than a second, I felt all the blood in my bodyrushing to my temples, and immediately thereupon, aconcussion, which I shall never forget, burst abruptly

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through the night and seemed to rip the very firmamentasunder. When I afterward had time for reflection, I didnot fail to attribute the extreme violence of the explo-sion, as regarded myself, to its proper cause—my sit-uation directly above it, and in the line of its greatestpower. But at the time, I thought only of preservingmy life. The balloon at first collapsed, then furiouslyexpanded, then whirled round and round with horri-ble velocity, and finally, reeling and staggering like adrunken man, hurled me with great force over the rimof the car, and left me dangling, at a terrific height, withmy head downward, and my face outwards, by a pieceof slender cord about three feet in length, which hungaccidentally through a crevice near the bottom of thewicker-work, and in which, as I fell, my left foot becamemost providentially entangled. It is impossible—utterlyimpossible—to form any adequate idea of the horror ofmy situation. I gasped convulsively for breath—a shud-der resembling a fit of the ague agitated every nerve andmuscle of my frame—I felt my eyes starting from theirsockets—a horrible nausea overwhelmed me—and atlength I fainted away.

“How long I remained in this state it is impossible tosay. It must, however, have been no inconsiderabletime, for when I partially recovered the sense of exis-tence, I found the day breaking, the balloon at a prodi-gious height over a wilderness of ocean, and not a traceof land to be discovered far and wide within the lim-its of the vast horizon. My sensations, however, uponthus recovering, were by no means so rife with agony asmight have been anticipated. Indeed, there was much ofincipient madness in the calm survey which I began totake of my situation. I drew up to my eyes each of myhands, one after the other, and wondered what occur-rence could have given rise to the swelling of the veins,and the horrible blackness of the fingernails. I afterwardcarefully examined my head, shaking it repeatedly, andfeeling it with minute attention, until I succeeded in sat-isfying myself that it was not, as I had more than half

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suspected, larger than my balloon. Then, in a knowingmanner, I felt in both my breeches pockets, and, miss-ing therefrom a set of tablets and a toothpick case, en-deavored to account for their disappearance, and notbeing able to do so, felt inexpressibly chagrined. Itnow occurred to me that I suffered great uneasiness inthe joint of my left ankle, and a dim consciousness ofmy situation began to glimmer through my mind. But,strange to say! I was neither astonished nor horror-stricken. If I felt any emotion at all, it was a kind ofchuckling satisfaction at the cleverness I was about todisplay in extricating myself from this dilemma; and Inever, for a moment, looked upon my ultimate safetyas a question susceptible of doubt. For a few minutesI remained wrapped in the profoundest meditation. Ihave a distinct recollection of frequently compressingmy lips, putting my forefinger to the side of my nose,and making use of other gesticulations and grimacescommon to men who, at ease in their arm-chairs, med-itate upon matters of intricacy or importance. Having,as I thought, sufficiently collected my ideas, I now, withgreat caution and deliberation, put my hands behindmy back, and unfastened the large iron buckle whichbelonged to the waistband of my inexpressibles. Thisbuckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat rusty,turned with great difficulty on their axis. I broughtthem, however, after some trouble, at right angles to thebody of the buckle, and was glad to find them remainfirm in that position. Holding the instrument thus ob-tained within my teeth, I now proceeded to untie theknot of my cravat. I had to rest several times before Icould accomplish this manoeuvre, but it was at lengthaccomplished. To one end of the cravat I then made fastthe buckle, and the other end I tied, for greater security,tightly around my wrist. Drawing now my body up-wards, with a prodigious exertion of muscular force, Isucceeded, at the very first trial, in throwing the buckleover the car, and entangling it, as I had anticipated, inthe circular rim of the wicker-work.

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“My body was now inclined towards the side of the car,at an angle of about forty-five degrees; but it must notbe understood that I was therefore only forty-five de-grees below the perpendicular. So far from it, I still laynearly level with the plane of the horizon; for the changeof situation which I had acquired, had forced the bot-tom of the car considerably outwards from my position,which was accordingly one of the most imminent anddeadly peril. It should be remembered, however, thatwhen I fell in the first instance, from the car, if I hadfallen with my face turned toward the balloon, insteadof turned outwardly from it, as it actually was; or if, inthe second place, the cord by which I was suspendedhad chanced to hang over the upper edge, instead ofthrough a crevice near the bottom of the car,—I say itmay be readily conceived that, in either of these sup-posed cases, I should have been unable to accomplisheven as much as I had now accomplished, and the won-derful adventures of Hans Pfaall would have been ut-terly lost to posterity, I had therefore every reason to begrateful; although, in point of fact, I was still too stupidto be anything at all, and hung for, perhaps, a quarterof an hour in that extraordinary manner, without mak-ing the slightest farther exertion whatsoever, and in asingularly tranquil state of idiotic enjoyment. But thisfeeling did not fail to die rapidly away, and thereuntosucceeded horror, and dismay, and a chilling sense ofutter helplessness and ruin. In fact, the blood so longaccumulating in the vessels of my head and throat, andwhich had hitherto buoyed up my spirits with mad-ness and delirium, had now begun to retire within theirproper channels, and the distinctness which was thusadded to my perception of the danger, merely servedto deprive me of the self-possession and courage to en-counter it. But this weakness was, luckily for me, of novery long duration. In good time came to my rescue thespirit of despair, and, with frantic cries and struggles, Ijerked my way bodily upwards, till at length, clutchingwith a vise-like grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my

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person over it, and fell headlong and shuddering withinthe car.“It was not until some time afterward that I recoveredmyself sufficiently to attend to the ordinary cares of theballoon. I then, however, examined it with attention,and found it, to my great relief, uninjured. My imple-ments were all safe, and, fortunately, I had lost neitherballast nor provisions. Indeed, I had so well securedthem in their places, that such an accident was entirelyout of the question. Looking at my watch, I found it sixo’clock. I was still rapidly ascending, and my barom-eter gave a present altitude of three and three-quartermiles. Immediately beneath me in the ocean, lay a smallblack object, slightly oblong in shape, seemingly aboutthe size, and in every way bearing a great resemblanceto one of those childish toys called a domino. Bring-ing my telescope to bear upon it, I plainly discerned itto be a British ninety four-gun ship, close-hauled, andpitching heavily in the sea with her head to the W.S.W.Besides this ship, I saw nothing but the ocean and thesky, and the sun, which had long arisen.“It is now high time that I should explain to your Ex-cellencies the object of my perilous voyage. Your Excel-lencies will bear in mind that distressed circumstancesin Rotterdam had at length driven me to the resolu-tion of committing suicide. It was not, however, that tolife itself I had any, positive disgust, but that I was ha-rassed beyond endurance by the adventitious miseriesattending my situation. In this state of mind, wishingto live, yet wearied with life, the treatise at the stall ofthe bookseller opened a resource to my imagination. Ithen finally made up my mind. I determined to depart,yet live—to leave the world, yet continue to exist—inshort, to drop enigmas, I resolved, let what would en-sue, to force a passage, if I could, to the moon. Now,lest I should be supposed more of a madman than I ac-tually am, I will detail, as well as I am able, the consid-erations which led me to believe that an achievementof this nature, although without doubt difficult, and in-

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contestably full of danger, was not absolutely, to a boldspirit, beyond the confines of the possible.“The moon’s actual distance from the earth was the firstthing to be attended to. Now, the mean or average inter-val between the centres of the two planets is 59.9643 ofthe earth’s equatorial radii, or only about 237,000 miles.I say the mean or average interval. But it must be bornein mind that the form of the moon’s orbit being an el-lipse of eccentricity amounting to no less than 0.05484 ofthe major semi-axis of the ellipse itself, and the earth’scentre being situated in its focus, if I could, in any man-ner, contrive to meet the moon, as it were, in its perigee,the above mentioned distance would be materially di-minished. But, to say nothing at present of this pos-sibility, it was very certain that, at all events, from the237,000 miles I would have to deduct the radius of theearth, say 4,000, and the radius of the moon, say 1080, inall 5,080, leaving an actual interval to be traversed, un-der average circumstances, of 231,920 miles. Now this,I reflected, was no very extraordinary distance. Trav-elling on land has been repeatedly accomplished at therate of thirty miles per hour, and indeed a much greaterspeed may be anticipated. But even at this velocity, itwould take me no more than 322 days to reach the sur-face of the moon. There were, however, many particu-lars inducing me to believe that my average rate of trav-elling might possibly very much exceed that of thirtymiles per hour, and, as these considerations did not failto make a deep impression upon my mind, I will men-tion them more fully hereafter.“The next point to be regarded was a matter of fargreater importance. From indications afforded by thebarometer, we find that, in ascensions from the surfaceof the earth we have, at the height of 1,000 feet, left be-low us about one-thirtieth of the entire mass of atmo-spheric air, that at 10,600 we have ascended throughnearly one-third; and that at 18,000, which is not farfrom the elevation of Cotopaxi, we have surmountedone-half the material, or, at all events, one-half the pon-

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derable, body of air incumbent upon our globe. It isalso calculated that at an altitude not exceeding the hun-dredth part of the earth’s diameter—that is, not exceed-ing eighty miles—the rarefaction would be so excessivethat animal life could in no manner be sustained, and,moreover, that the most delicate means we possess ofascertaining the presence of the atmosphere would beinadequate to assure us of its existence. But I did notfail to perceive that these latter calculations are foundedaltogether on our experimental knowledge of the prop-erties of air, and the mechanical laws regulating its di-lation and compression, in what may be called, com-paratively speaking, the immediate vicinity of the earthitself; and, at the same time, it is taken for granted thatanimal life is and must be essentially incapable of modi-fication at any given unattainable distance from the sur-face. Now, all such reasoning and from such data must,of course, be simply analogical. The greatest heightever reached by man was that of 25,000 feet, attained inthe aeronautic expedition of Messieurs Gay-Lussac andBiot. This is a moderate altitude, even when comparedwith the eighty miles in question; and I could not helpthinking that the subject admitted room for doubt andgreat latitude for speculation.“But, in point of fact, an ascension being made toany given altitude, the ponderable quantity of air sur-mounted in any farther ascension is by no means in pro-portion to the additional height ascended (as may beplainly seen from what has been stated before), but in aratio constantly decreasing. It is therefore evident that,ascend as high as we may, we cannot, literally speak-ing, arrive at a limit beyond which no atmosphere is tobe found. It must exist, I argued; although it may existin a state of infinite rarefaction.“On the other hand, I was aware that arguments havenot been wanting to prove the existence of a real anddefinite limit to the atmosphere, beyond which there isabsolutely no air whatsoever. But a circumstance whichhas been left out of view by those who contend for such

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a limit seemed to me, although no positive refutationof their creed, still a point worthy very serious inves-tigation. On comparing the intervals between the suc-cessive arrivals of Encke’s comet at its perihelion, aftergiving credit, in the most exact manner, for all the dis-turbances due to the attractions of the planets, it appearsthat the periods are gradually diminishing; that is to say,the major axis of the comet’s ellipse is growing shorter,in a slow but perfectly regular decrease. Now, this isprecisely what ought to be the case, if we suppose a re-sistance experienced from the comet from an extremelyrare ethereal medium pervading the regions of its orbit.For it is evident that such a medium must, in retardingthe comet’s velocity, increase its centripetal, by weaken-ing its centrifugal force. In other words, the sun’s attrac-tion would be constantly attaining greater power, andthe comet would be drawn nearer at every revolution.Indeed, there is no other way of accounting for the vari-ation in question. But again. The real diameter of thesame comet’s nebulosity is observed to contract rapidlyas it approaches the sun, and dilate with equal rapidityin its departure towards its aphelion. Was I not justifi-able in supposing with M. Valz, that this apparent con-densation of volume has its origin in the compression ofthe same ethereal medium I have spoken of before, andwhich is only denser in proportion to its solar vicinity?The lenticular-shaped phenomenon, also called the zo-diacal light, was a matter worthy of attention. This ra-diance, so apparent in the tropics, and which cannot bemistaken for any meteoric lustre, extends from the hori-zon obliquely upward, and follows generally the direc-tion of the sun’s equator. It appeared to me evidentlyin the nature of a rare atmosphere extending from thesun outward, beyond the orbit of Venus at least, andI believed indefinitely farther.1 Indeed, this medium Icould not suppose confined to the path of the comet’sellipse, or to the immediate neighborhood of the sun. It

1The zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called Trabes. EmicantTrabes quos docos vocant.—Pliny, lib. 2, p. 26.

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was easy, on the contrary, to imagine it pervading theentire regions of our planetary system, condensed intowhat we call atmosphere at the planets themselves, andperhaps at some of them modified by considerations, soto speak, purely geological.“Having adopted this view of the subject, I had little fur-ther hesitation. Granting that on my passage I shouldmeet with atmosphere essentially the same as at the sur-face of the earth, I conceived that, by means of the veryingenious apparatus of M. Grimm, I should readily beenabled to condense it in sufficient quantity for the pur-poses of respiration. This would remove the chief ob-stacle in a journey to the moon. I had indeed spentsome money and great labor in adapting the appara-tus to the object intended, and confidently looked for-ward to its successful application, if I could manage tocomplete the voyage within any reasonable period. Thisbrings me back to the rate at which it might be possibleto travel.“It is true that balloons, in the first stage of their ascen-sions from the earth, are known to rise with a velocitycomparatively moderate. Now, the power of elevationlies altogether in the superior lightness of the gas in theballoon compared with the atmospheric air; and, at firstsight, it does not appear probable that, as the balloon ac-quires altitude, and consequently arrives successively inatmospheric strata of densities rapidly diminishing—Isay, it does not appear at all reasonable that, in this itsprogress upwards, the original velocity should be ac-celerated. On the other hand, I was not aware that, inany recorded ascension, a diminution was apparent inthe absolute rate of ascent; although such should havebeen the case, if on account of nothing else, on accountof the escape of gas through balloons ill-constructed,and varnished with no better material than the ordinaryvarnish. It seemed, therefore, that the effect of such es-cape was only sufficient to counterbalance the effect ofsome accelerating power. I now considered that, pro-vided in my passage I found the medium I had imag-

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ined, and provided that it should prove to be actuallyand essentially what we denominate atmospheric air, itcould make comparatively little difference at what ex-treme state of rarefaction I should discover it—that is tosay, in regard to my power of ascending—for the gas inthe balloon would not only be itself subject to rarefac-tion partially similar (in proportion to the occurrence ofwhich, I could suffer an escape of so much as would berequisite to prevent explosion), but, being what it was,would, at all events, continue specifically lighter thanany compound whatever of mere nitrogen and oxygen.In the meantime, the force of gravitation would be con-stantly diminishing, in proportion to the squares of thedistances, and thus, with a velocity prodigiously accel-erating, I should at length arrive in those distant regionswhere the force of the earth’s attraction would be su-perseded by that of the moon. In accordance with theseideas, I did not think it worth while to encumber my-self with more provisions than would be sufficient for aperiod of forty days.“There was still, however, another difficulty, which oc-casioned me some little disquietude. It has been ob-served, that, in balloon ascensions to any considerableheight, besides the pain attending respiration, great un-easiness is experienced about the head and body, of-ten accompanied with bleeding at the nose, and othersymptoms of an alarming kind, and growing moreand more inconvenient in proportion to the altitude at-tained.2 This was a reflection of a nature somewhatstartling. Was it not probable that these symptomswould increase indefinitely, or at least until terminatedby death itself? I finally thought not. Their originwas to be looked for in the progressive removal of thecustomary atmospheric pressure upon the surface ofthe body, and consequent distention of the superficial

2Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr. Green, of Nas-sau balloon notoriety, and other late aeronauts, deny the assertions of Hum-boldt, in this respect, and speak of a decreasing inconvenience,—precisely inaccordance with the theory here urged in a mere spirit of banter.

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blood-vessels—not in any positive disorganization ofthe animal system, as in the case of difficulty in breath-ing, where the atmospheric density is chemically insuf-ficient for the due renovation of blood in a ventricle ofthe heart. Unless for default of this renovation, I couldsee no reason, therefore, why life could not be sustainedeven in a vacuum; for the expansion and compressionof chest, commonly called breathing, is action purelymuscular, and the cause, not the effect, of respiration.In a word, I conceived that, as the body should be-come habituated to the want of atmospheric pressure,the sensations of pain would gradually diminish—andto endure them while they continued, I relied with con-fidence upon the iron hardihood of my constitution.“Thus, may it please your Excellencies, I have detailedsome, though by no means all, the considerations whichled me to form the project of a lunar voyage. I shall nowproceed to lay before you the result of an attempt soapparently audacious in conception, and, at all events,so utterly unparalleled in the annals of mankind.“Having attained the altitude before mentioned, that isto say three miles and three-quarters, I threw out fromthe car a quantity of feathers, and found that I still as-cended with sufficient rapidity; there was, therefore, nonecessity for discharging any ballast. I was glad of this,for I wished to retain with me as much weight as I couldcarry, for reasons which will be explained in the se-quel. I as yet suffered no bodily inconvenience, breath-ing with great freedom, and feeling no pain whateverin the head. The cat was lying very demurely upon mycoat, which I had taken off, and eyeing the pigeons withan air of nonchalance. These latter being tied by the leg,to prevent their escape, were busily employed in pick-ing up some grains of rice scattered for them in the bot-tom of the car.“At twenty minutes past six o’clock, the barometershowed an elevation of 26,400 feet, or five miles to afraction. The prospect seemed unbounded. Indeed, itis very easily calculated by means of spherical geom-

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etry, what a great extent of the earth’s area I beheld.The convex surface of any segment of a sphere is, to theentire surface of the sphere itself, as the versed sine ofthe segment to the diameter of the sphere. Now, in mycase, the versed sine—that is to say, the thickness of thesegment beneath me—was about equal to my elevation,or the elevation of the point of sight above the surface.‘As five miles, then, to eight thousand,’ would expressthe proportion of the earth’s area seen by me. In otherwords, I beheld as much as a sixteen-hundredth part ofthe whole surface of the globe. The sea appeared un-ruffled as a mirror, although, by means of the spy-glass,I could perceive it to be in a state of violent agitation.The ship was no longer visible, having drifted away, ap-parently to the eastward. I now began to experience, atintervals, severe pain in the head, especially about theears—still, however, breathing with tolerable freedom.The cat and pigeons seemed to suffer no inconveniencewhatsoever.

“At twenty minutes before seven, the balloon entered along series of dense cloud, which put me to great trou-ble, by damaging my condensing apparatus and wet-ting me to the skin. This was, to be sure, a singular re-contre, for I had not believed it possible that a cloudof this nature could be sustained at so great an eleva-tion. I thought it best, however, to throw out two five-pound pieces of ballast, reserving still a weight of onehundred and sixty-five pounds. Upon so doing, I soonrose above the difficulty, and perceived immediately,that I had obtained a great increase in my rate of as-cent. In a few seconds after my leaving the cloud, aflash of vivid lightning shot from one end of it to theother, and caused it to kindle up, throughout its vast ex-tent, like a mass of ignited and glowing charcoal. This,it must be remembered, was in the broad light of day.No fancy may picture the sublimity which might havebeen exhibited by a similar phenomenon taking placeamid the darkness of the night. Hell itself might havebeen found a fitting image. Even as it was, my hair

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stood on end, while I gazed afar down within the yawn-ing abysses, letting imagination descend, as it were,and stalk about in the strange vaulted halls, and ruddygulfs, and red ghastly chasms of the hideous and un-fathomable fire. I had indeed made a narrow escape.Had the balloon remained a very short while longerwithin the cloud—that is to say—had not the incon-venience of getting wet, determined me to dischargethe ballast, inevitable ruin would have been the con-sequence. Such perils, although little considered, areperhaps the greatest which must be encountered in bal-loons. I had by this time, however, attained too great anelevation to be any longer uneasy on this head.

“I was now rising rapidly, and by seven o’clock thebarometer indicated an altitude of no less than ninemiles and a half. I began to find great difficulty in draw-ing my breath. My head, too, was excessively painful;and, having felt for some time a moisture about mycheeks, I at length discovered it to be blood, whichwas oozing quite fast from the drums of my ears. Myeyes, also, gave me great uneasiness. Upon passing thehand over them they seemed to have protruded fromtheir sockets in no inconsiderable degree; and all ob-jects in the car, and even the balloon itself, appeareddistorted to my vision. These symptoms were morethan I had expected, and occasioned me some alarm. Atthis juncture, very imprudently, and without consider-ation, I threw out from the car three five-pound piecesof ballast. The accelerated rate of ascent thus obtained,carried me too rapidly, and without sufficient grada-tion, into a highly rarefied stratum of the atmosphere,and the result had nearly proved fatal to my expedi-tion and to myself. I was suddenly seized with a spasmwhich lasted for more than five minutes, and even whenthis, in a measure, ceased, I could catch my breath onlyat long intervals, and in a gasping manner—bleedingall the while copiously at the nose and ears, and evenslightly at the eyes. The pigeons appeared distressedin the extreme, and struggled to escape; while the cat

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mewed piteously, and, with her tongue hanging out ofher mouth, staggered to and fro in the car as if under theinfluence of poison. I now too late discovered the greatrashness of which I had been guilty in discharging theballast, and my agitation was excessive. I anticipatednothing less than death, and death in a few minutes.The physical suffering I underwent contributed also torender me nearly incapable of making any exertion forthe preservation of my life. I had, indeed, little power ofreflection left, and the violence of the pain in my headseemed to be greatly on the increase. Thus I found thatmy senses would shortly give way altogether, and I hadalready clutched one of the valve ropes with the view ofattempting a descent, when the recollection of the trickI had played the three creditors, and the possible con-sequences to myself, should I return, operated to determe for the moment. I lay down in the bottom of thecar, and endeavored to collect my faculties. In this I sofar succeeded as to determine upon the experiment oflosing blood. Having no lancet, however, I was con-strained to perform the operation in the best manner Iwas able, and finally succeeded in opening a vein in myright arm, with the blade of my penknife. The bloodhad hardly commenced flowing when I experienced asensible relief, and by the time I had lost about half amoderate basin full, most of the worst symptoms hadabandoned me entirely. I nevertheless did not think itexpedient to attempt getting on my feet immediately;but, having tied up my arm as well as I could, I lay stillfor about a quarter of an hour. At the end of this time Iarose, and found myself freer from absolute pain of anykind than I had been during the last hour and a quarterof my ascension. The difficulty of breathing, however,was diminished in a very slight degree, and I found thatit would soon be positively necessary to make use ofmy condenser. In the meantime, looking toward the cat,who was again snugly stowed away upon my coat, Idiscovered to my infinite surprise, that she had takenthe opportunity of my indisposition to bring into light

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a litter of three little kittens. This was an addition tothe number of passengers on my part altogether unex-pected; but I was pleased at the occurrence. It wouldafford me a chance of bringing to a kind of test the truthof a surmise, which, more than anything else, had influ-enced me in attempting this ascension. I had imaginedthat the habitual endurance of the atmospheric pres-sure at the surface of the earth was the cause, or nearlyso, of the pain attending animal existence at a distanceabove the surface. Should the kittens be found to suf-fer uneasiness in an equal degree with their mother, Imust consider my theory in fault, but a failure to do soI should look upon as a strong confirmation of my idea.“By eight o’clock I had actually attained an elevation ofseventeen miles above the surface of the earth. Thus itseemed to me evident that my rate of ascent was notonly on the increase, but that the progression wouldhave been apparent in a slight degree even had I notdischarged the ballast which I did. The pains in myhead and ears returned, at intervals, with violence, andI still continued to bleed occasionally at the nose; but,upon the whole, I suffered much less than might havebeen expected. I breathed, however, at every moment,with more and more difficulty, and each inhalation wasattended with a troublesome spasmodic action of thechest. I now unpacked the condensing apparatus, andgot it ready for immediate use.“The view of the earth, at this period of my ascension,was beautiful indeed. To the westward, the northward,and the southward, as far as I could see, lay a bound-less sheet of apparently unruffled ocean, which everymoment gained a deeper and a deeper tint of blue andbegan already to assume a slight appearance of convex-ity. At a vast distance to the eastward, although per-fectly discernible, extended the islands of Great Britain,the entire Atlantic coasts of France and Spain, with asmall portion of the northern part of the continent ofAfrica. Of individual edifices not a trace could be dis-covered, and the proudest cities of mankind had utterly

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faded away from the face of the earth. From the rockof Gibraltar, now dwindled into a dim speck, the darkMediterranean sea, dotted with shining islands as theheaven is dotted with stars, spread itself out to the east-ward as far as my vision extended, until its entire massof waters seemed at length to tumble headlong over theabyss of the horizon, and I found myself listening ontiptoe for the echoes of the mighty cataract. Overhead,the sky was of a jetty black, and the stars were brilliantlyvisible.“The pigeons about this time seeming to undergo muchsuffering, I determined upon giving them their liberty.I first untied one of them, a beautiful gray-mottledpigeon, and placed him upon the rim of the wicker-work. He appeared extremely uneasy, looking anx-iously around him, fluttering his wings, and making aloud cooing noise, but could not be persuaded to trusthimself from off the car. I took him up at last, andthrew him to about half a dozen yards from the bal-loon. He made, however, no attempt to descend as Ihad expected, but struggled with great vehemence toget back, uttering at the same time very shrill and pierc-ing cries. He at length succeeded in regaining his for-mer station on the rim, but had hardly done so when hishead dropped upon his breast, and he fell dead withinthe car. The other one did not prove so unfortunate.To prevent his following the example of his compan-ion, and accomplishing a return, I threw him downwardwith all my force, and was pleased to find him continuehis descent, with great velocity, making use of his wingswith ease, and in a perfectly natural manner. In a veryshort time he was out of sight, and I have no doubt hereached home in safety. Puss, who seemed in a greatmeasure recovered from her illness, now made a heartymeal of the dead bird and then went to sleep with muchapparent satisfaction. Her kittens were quite lively, andso far evinced not the slightest sign of any uneasinesswhatever.“At a quarter-past eight, being no longer able to draw

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breath without the most intolerable pain, I proceededforthwith to adjust around the car the apparatus belong-ing to the condenser. This apparatus will require somelittle explanation, and your Excellencies will please tobear in mind that my object, in the first place, was to sur-round myself and cat entirely with a barricade againstthe highly rarefied atmosphere in which I was exist-ing, with the intention of introducing within this barri-cade, by means of my condenser, a quantity of this sameatmosphere sufficiently condensed for the purposes ofrespiration. With this object in view I had prepared avery strong perfectly air-tight, but flexible gum-elasticbag. In this bag, which was of sufficient dimensions,the entire car was in a manner placed. That is to say,it (the bag) was drawn over the whole bottom of thecar, up its sides, and so on, along the outside of theropes, to the upper rim or hoop where the net-work isattached. Having pulled the bag up in this way, andformed a complete enclosure on all sides, and at bottom,it was now necessary to fasten up its top or mouth, bypassing its material over the hoop of the net-work—inother words, between the net-work and the hoop. Butif the net-work were separated from the hoop to admitthis passage, what was to sustain the car in the mean-time? Now the net-work was not permanently fastenedto the hoop, but attached by a series of running loopsor nooses. I therefore undid only a few of these loopsat one time, leaving the car suspended by the remain-der. Having thus inserted a portion of the cloth formingthe upper part of the bag, I refastened the loops—notto the hoop, for that would have been impossible, sincethe cloth now intervened—but to a series of large but-tons, affixed to the cloth itself, about three feet belowthe mouth of the bag, the intervals between the but-tons having been made to correspond to the intervalsbetween the loops. This done, a few more of the loopswere unfastened from the rim, a farther portion of thecloth introduced, and the disengaged loops then con-nected with their proper buttons. In this way it was pos-

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sible to insert the whole upper part of the bag betweenthe net-work and the hoop. It is evident that the hoopwould now drop down within the car, while the wholeweight of the car itself, with all its contents, would beheld up merely by the strength of the buttons. This, atfirst sight, would seem an inadequate dependence; butit was by no means so, for the buttons were not onlyvery strong in themselves, but so close together that avery slight portion of the whole weight was supportedby any one of them. Indeed, had the car and contentsbeen three times heavier than they were, I should nothave been at all uneasy. I now raised up the hoop againwithin the covering of gum-elastic, and propped it atnearly its former height by means of three light polesprepared for the occasion. This was done, of course, tokeep the bag distended at the top, and to preserve thelower part of the net-work in its proper situation. Allthat now remained was to fasten up the mouth of theenclosure; and this was readily accomplished by gather-ing the folds of the material together, and twisting themup very tightly on the inside by means of a kind of sta-tionary tourniquet.“In the sides of the covering thus adjusted round thecar, had been inserted three circular panes of thick butclear glass, through which I could see without difficultyaround me in every horizontal direction. In that portionof the cloth forming the bottom, was likewise, a fourthwindow, of the same kind, and corresponding with asmall aperture in the floor of the car itself. This enabledme to see perpendicularly down, but having found itimpossible to place any similar contrivance overhead,on account of the peculiar manner of closing up theopening there, and the consequent wrinkles in the cloth,I could expect to see no objects situated directly in myzenith. This, of course, was a matter of little conse-quence; for had I even been able to place a window attop, the balloon itself would have prevented my makingany use of it.“About a foot below one of the side windows was a cir-

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cular opening, eight inches in diameter, and fitted witha brass rim adapted in its inner edge to the windings of ascrew. In this rim was screwed the large tube of the con-denser, the body of the machine being, of course, withinthe chamber of gum-elastic. Through this tube a quan-tity of the rare atmosphere circumjacent being drawn bymeans of a vacuum created in the body of the machine,was thence discharged, in a state of condensation, tomingle with the thin air already in the chamber. This op-eration being repeated several times, at length filled thechamber with atmosphere proper for all the purposesof respiration. But in so confined a space it would, ina short time, necessarily become foul, and unfit for usefrom frequent contact with the lungs. It was then ejectedby a small valve at the bottom of the car—the dense airreadily sinking into the thinner atmosphere below. Toavoid the inconvenience of making a total vacuum atany moment within the chamber, this purification wasnever accomplished all at once, but in a gradual man-ner—the valve being opened only for a few seconds,then closed again, until one or two strokes from thepump of the condenser had supplied the place of theatmosphere ejected. For the sake of experiment I hadput the cat and kittens in a small basket, and suspendedit outside the car to a button at the bottom, close by thevalve, through which I could feed them at any momentwhen necessary. I did this at some little risk, and beforeclosing the mouth of the chamber, by reaching underthe car with one of the poles before mentioned to whicha hook had been attached.

“By the time I had fully completed these arrangementsand filled the chamber as explained, it wanted only tenminutes of nine o’clock. During the whole period of mybeing thus employed, I endured the most terrible dis-tress from difficulty of respiration, and bitterly did I re-pent the negligence or rather fool-hardiness, of whichI had been guilty, of putting off to the last moment amatter of so much importance. But having at length ac-complished it, I soon began to reap the benefit of my

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invention. Once again I breathed with perfect freedomand ease—and indeed why should I not? I was alsoagreeably surprised to find myself, in a great measure,relieved from the violent pains which had hitherto tor-mented me. A slight headache, accompanied with asensation of fulness or distention about the wrists, theankles, and the throat, was nearly all of which I had nowto complain. Thus it seemed evident that a greater partof the uneasiness attending the removal of atmosphericpressure had actually worn off, as I had expected, andthat much of the pain endured for the last two hoursshould have been attributed altogether to the effects ofa deficient respiration.“At twenty minutes before nine o’clock—that is to say,a short time prior to my closing up the mouth of thechamber, the mercury attained its limit, or ran down, inthe barometer, which, as I mentioned before, was oneof an extended construction. It then indicated an al-titude on my part of 132,000 feet, or five-and-twentymiles, and I consequently surveyed at that time an ex-tent of the earth’s area amounting to no less than thethree hundred-and-twentieth part of its entire superfi-cies. At nine o’clock I had again lost sight of land to theeastward, but not before I became aware that the bal-loon was drifting rapidly to the N. N. W. The convexityof the ocean beneath me was very evident indeed, al-though my view was often interrupted by the massesof cloud which floated to and fro. I observed now thateven the lightest vapors never rose to more than tenmiles above the level of the sea.“At half past nine I tried the experiment of throwingout a handful of feathers through the valve. They didnot float as I had expected; but dropped down perpen-dicularly, like a bullet, en masse, and with the greatestvelocity—being out of sight in a very few seconds. Idid not at first know what to make of this extraordinaryphenomenon; not being able to believe that my rate ofascent had, of a sudden, met with so prodigious an ac-celeration. But it soon occurred to me that the atmo-

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sphere was now far too rare to sustain even the feathers;that they actually fell, as they appeared to do, with greatrapidity; and that I had been surprised by the united ve-locities of their descent and my own elevation.

“By ten o’clock I found that I had very little to occupymy immediate attention. Affairs went swimmingly,and I believed the balloon to be going upward with aspeed increasing momently although I had no longerany means of ascertaining the progression of the in-crease. I suffered no pain or uneasiness of any kind, andenjoyed better spirits than I had at any period since mydeparture from Rotterdam, busying myself now in ex-amining the state of my various apparatus, and now inregenerating the atmosphere within the chamber. Thislatter point I determined to attend to at regular intervalsof forty minutes, more on account of the preservationof my health, than from so frequent a renovation be-ing absolutely necessary. In the meanwhile I could nothelp making anticipations. Fancy revelled in the wildand dreamy regions of the moon. Imagination, feel-ing herself for once unshackled, roamed at will amongthe ever-changing wonders of a shadowy and unstableland. Now there were hoary and time-honored forests,and craggy precipices, and waterfalls tumbling with aloud noise into abysses without a bottom. Then I camesuddenly into still noonday solitudes, where no windof heaven ever intruded, and where vast meadows ofpoppies, and slender, lily-looking flowers spread them-selves out a weary distance, all silent and motionlessforever. Then again I journeyed far down away intoanother country where it was all one dim and vaguelake, with a boundary line of clouds. And out of thismelancholy water arose a forest of tall eastern trees, likea wilderness of dreams. And I have in mind that theshadows of the trees which fell upon the lake remainednot on the surface where they fell, but sunk slowly andsteadily down, and commingled with the waves, whilefrom the trunks of the trees other shadows were contin-ually coming out, and taking the place of their broth-

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ers thus entombed. “This then,” I said thoughtfully,“is the very reason why the waters of this lake growblacker with age, and more melancholy as the hoursrun on.” But fancies such as these were not the solepossessors of my brain. Horrors of a nature most sternand most appalling would too frequently obtrude them-selves upon my mind, and shake the innermost depthsof my soul with the bare supposition of their possibil-ity. Yet I would not suffer my thoughts for any lengthof time to dwell upon these latter speculations, rightlyjudging the real and palpable dangers of the voyage suf-ficient for my undivided attention.

“At five o’clock, p.m., being engaged in regenerating theatmosphere within the chamber, I took that opportunityof observing the cat and kittens through the valve. Thecat herself appeared to suffer again very much, and Ihad no hesitation in attributing her uneasiness chieflyto a difficulty in breathing; but my experiment with thekittens had resulted very strangely. I had expected, ofcourse, to see them betray a sense of pain, although ina less degree than their mother, and this would havebeen sufficient to confirm my opinion concerning thehabitual endurance of atmospheric pressure. But I wasnot prepared to find them, upon close examination, evi-dently enjoying a high degree of health, breathing withthe greatest ease and perfect regularity, and evincing notthe slightest sign of any uneasiness whatever. I couldonly account for all this by extending my theory, andsupposing that the highly rarefied atmosphere aroundmight perhaps not be, as I had taken for granted, chem-ically insufficient for the purposes of life, and that a per-son born in such a medium might, possibly, be unawareof any inconvenience attending its inhalation, while,upon removal to the denser strata near the earth, hemight endure tortures of a similar nature to those I hadso lately experienced. It has since been to me a matterof deep regret that an awkward accident, at this time,occasioned me the loss of my little family of cats, anddeprived me of the insight into this matter which a con-

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tinued experiment might have afforded. In passing myhand through the valve, with a cup of water for the oldpuss, the sleeves of my shirt became entangled in theloop which sustained the basket, and thus, in a moment,loosened it from the bottom. Had the whole actuallyvanished into air, it could not have shot from my sightin a more abrupt and instantaneous manner. Positively,there could not have intervened the tenth part of a sec-ond between the disengagement of the basket and itsabsolute and total disappearance with all that it con-tained. My good wishes followed it to the earth, butof course, I had no hope that either cat or kittens wouldever live to tell the tale of their misfortune.“At six o’clock, I perceived a great portion of the earth’svisible area to the eastward involved in thick shadow,which continued to advance with great rapidity, until,at five minutes before seven, the whole surface in viewwas enveloped in the darkness of night. It was not,however, until long after this time that the rays of thesetting sun ceased to illumine the balloon; and this cir-cumstance, although of course fully anticipated, did notfail to give me an infinite deal of pleasure. It was ev-ident that, in the morning, I should behold the risingluminary many hours at least before the citizens of Rot-terdam, in spite of their situation so much farther to theeastward, and thus, day after day, in proportion to theheight ascended, would I enjoy the light of the sun fora longer and a longer period. I now determined to keepa journal of my passage, reckoning the days from oneto twenty-four hours continuously, without taking intoconsideration the intervals of darkness.“At ten o’clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie downfor the rest of the night; but here a difficulty presenteditself, which, obvious as it may appear, had escaped myattention up to the very moment of which I am nowspeaking. If I went to sleep as I proposed, how couldthe atmosphere in the chamber be regenerated in the in-terim? To breathe it for more than an hour, at the far-thest, would be a matter of impossibility, or, if even this

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term could be extended to an hour and a quarter, themost ruinous consequences might ensue. The consider-ation of this dilemma gave me no little disquietude; andit will hardly be believed, that, after the dangers I hadundergone, I should look upon this business in so seri-ous a light, as to give up all hope of accomplishing myultimate design, and finally make up my mind to thenecessity of a descent. But this hesitation was only mo-mentary. I reflected that man is the veriest slave of cus-tom, and that many points in the routine of his existenceare deemed essentially important, which are only so atall by his having rendered them habitual. It was verycertain that I could not do without sleep; but I mighteasily bring myself to feel no inconvenience from beingawakened at intervals of an hour during the whole pe-riod of my repose. It would require but five minutes atmost to regenerate the atmosphere in the fullest manner,and the only real difficulty was to contrive a method ofarousing myself at the proper moment for so doing. Butthis was a question which, I am willing to confess, oc-casioned me no little trouble in its solution. To be sure,I had heard of the student who, to prevent his fallingasleep over his books, held in one hand a ball of copper,the din of whose descent into a basin of the same metalon the floor beside his chair, served effectually to startlehim up, if, at any moment, he should be overcome withdrowsiness. My own case, however, was very differentindeed, and left me no room for any similar idea; forI did not wish to keep awake, but to be aroused fromslumber at regular intervals of time. I at length hit uponthe following expedient, which, simple as it may seem,was hailed by me, at the moment of discovery, as aninvention fully equal to that of the telescope, the steam-engine, or the art of printing itself.

“It is necessary to premise, that the balloon, at the eleva-tion now attained, continued its course upward with aneven and undeviating ascent, and the car consequentlyfollowed with a steadiness so perfect that it would havebeen impossible to detect in it the slightest vacillation

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whatever. This circumstance favored me greatly in theproject I now determined to adopt. My supply of wa-ter had been put on board in kegs containing five gal-lons each, and ranged very securely around the interiorof the car. I unfastened one of these, and taking tworopes tied them tightly across the rim of the wicker-work from one side to the other; placing them abouta foot apart and parallel so as to form a kind of shelf,upon which I placed the keg, and steadied it in a hori-zontal position. About eight inches immediately belowthese ropes, and four feet from the bottom of the car Ifastened another shelf—but made of thin plank, beingthe only similar piece of wood I had. Upon this lattershelf, and exactly beneath one of the rims of the keg,a small earthern pitcher was deposited. I now bored ahole in the end of the keg over the pitcher, and fitted ina plug of soft wood, cut in a tapering or conical shape.This plug I pushed in or pulled out, as might happen,until, after a few experiments, it arrived at that exactdegree of tightness, at which the water, oozing from thehole, and falling into the pitcher below, would fill thelatter to the brim in the period of sixty minutes. This, ofcourse, was a matter briefly and easily ascertained, bynoticing the proportion of the pitcher filled in any giventime. Having arranged all this, the rest of the plan isobvious. My bed was so contrived upon the floor of thecar, as to bring my head, in lying down, immediately be-low the mouth of the pitcher. It was evident, that, at theexpiration of an hour, the pitcher, getting full, would beforced to run over, and to run over at the mouth, whichwas somewhat lower than the rim. It was also evident,that the water thus falling from a height of more thanfour feet, could not do otherwise than fall upon my face,and that the sure consequences would be, to waken meup instantaneously, even from the soundest slumber inthe world.

“It was fully eleven by the time I had completed thesearrangements, and I immediately betook myself to bed,with full confidence in the efficiency of my invention.

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Nor in this matter was I disappointed. Punctually everysixty minutes was I aroused by my trusty chronometer,when, having emptied the pitcher into the bung-hole ofthe keg, and performed the duties of the condenser, Iretired again to bed. These regular interruptions to myslumber caused me even less discomfort than I had an-ticipated; and when I finally arose for the day, it wasseven o’clock, and the sun had attained many degreesabove the line of my horizon.“April 3d. I found the balloon at an immense heightindeed, and the earth’s apparent convexity increased ina material degree. Below me in the ocean lay a clusterof black specks, which undoubtedly were islands. Faraway to the northward I perceived a thin, white, andexceedingly brilliant line, or streak, on the edge of thehorizon, and I had no hesitation in supposing it to be thesouthern disk of the ices of the Polar Sea. My curiositywas greatly excited, for I had hopes of passing on muchfarther to the north, and might possibly, at some period,find myself placed directly above the Pole itself. I nowlamented that my great elevation would, in this case,prevent my taking as accurate a survey as I could wish.Much, however, might be ascertained. Nothing else ofan extraordinary nature occurred during the day. Myapparatus all continued in good order, and the balloonstill ascended without any perceptible vacillation. Thecold was intense, and obliged me to wrap up closelyin an overcoat. When darkness came over the earth, Ibetook myself to bed, although it was for many hoursafterward broad daylight all around my immediate sit-uation. The water-clock was punctual in its duty, and Islept until next morning soundly, with the exception ofthe periodical interruption.“April 4th. Arose in good health and spirits, and wasastonished at the singular change which had taken placein the appearance of the sea. It had lost, in a greatmeasure, the deep tint of blue it had hitherto worn, be-ing now of a grayish-white, and of a lustre dazzling tothe eye. The islands were no longer visible; whether

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they had passed down the horizon to the southeast, orwhether my increasing elevation had left them out ofsight, it is impossible to say. I was inclined, however, tothe latter opinion. The rim of ice to the northward wasgrowing more and more apparent. Cold by no means sointense. Nothing of importance occurred, and I passedthe day in reading, having taken care to supply myselfwith books.“April 5th. Beheld the singular phenomenon of the sunrising while nearly the whole visible surface of the earthcontinued to be involved in darkness. In time, however,the light spread itself over all, and I again saw the lineof ice to the northward. It was now very distinct, andappeared of a much darker hue than the waters of theocean. I was evidently approaching it, and with greatrapidity. Fancied I could again distinguish a strip ofland to the eastward, and one also to the westward, butcould not be certain. Weather moderate. Nothing ofany consequence happened during the day. Went earlyto bed.“April 6th. Was surprised at finding the rim of ice ata very moderate distance, and an immense field of thesame material stretching away off to the horizon in thenorth. It was evident that if the balloon held its presentcourse, it would soon arrive above the Frozen Ocean,and I had now little doubt of ultimately seeing the Pole.During the whole of the day I continued to near theice. Toward night the limits of my horizon very sud-denly and materially increased, owing undoubtedly tothe earth’s form being that of an oblate spheroid, andmy arriving above the flattened regions in the vicinityof the Arctic circle. When darkness at length overtookme, I went to bed in great anxiety, fearing to pass overthe object of so much curiosity when I should have noopportunity of observing it.“April 7th. Arose early, and, to my great joy, at lengthbeheld what there could be no hesitation in supposingthe northern Pole itself. It was there, beyond a doubt,and immediately beneath my feet; but, alas! I had

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now ascended to so vast a distance, that nothing couldwith accuracy be discerned. Indeed, to judge from theprogression of the numbers indicating my various al-titudes, respectively, at different periods, between sixA.M. on the second of April, and twenty minutes beforenine A.M. of the same day (at which time the barome-ter ran down), it might be fairly inferred that the bal-loon had now, at four o’clock in the morning of Aprilthe seventh, reached a height of not less, certainly, than7,254 miles above the surface of the sea. This elevationmay appear immense, but the estimate upon which itis calculated gave a result in all probability far inferiorto the truth. At all events I undoubtedly beheld thewhole of the earth’s major diameter; the entire north-ern hemisphere lay beneath me like a chart orthograph-ically projected: and the great circle of the equator itselfformed the boundary line of my horizon. Your Excel-lencies may, however, readily imagine that the confinedregions hitherto unexplored within the limits of the Arc-tic circle, although situated directly beneath me, andtherefore seen without any appearance of being fore-shortened, were still, in themselves, comparatively toodiminutive, and at too great a distance from the pointof sight, to admit of any very accurate examination.Nevertheless, what could be seen was of a nature sin-gular and exciting. Northwardly from that huge rimbefore mentioned, and which, with slight qualification,may be called the limit of human discovery in these re-gions, one unbroken, or nearly unbroken, sheet of icecontinues to extend. In the first few degrees of this itsprogress, its surface is very sensibly flattened, farther ondepressed into a plane, and finally, becoming not a lit-tle concave, it terminates, at the Pole itself, in a circularcentre, sharply defined, whose apparent diameter sub-tended at the balloon an angle of about sixty-five sec-onds, and whose dusky hue, varying in intensity, was,at all times, darker than any other spot upon the visiblehemisphere, and occasionally deepened into the mostabsolute and impenetrable blackness. Farther than this,

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little could be ascertained. By twelve o’clock the circularcentre had materially decreased in circumference, andby seven P.M. I lost sight of it entirely; the balloon pass-ing over the western limb of the ice, and floating awayrapidly in the direction of the equator.“April 8th. Found a sensible diminution in the earth’sapparent diameter, besides a material alteration in itsgeneral color and appearance. The whole visible areapartook in different degrees of a tint of pale yellow, andin some portions had acquired a brilliancy even painfulto the eye. My view downward was also considerablyimpeded by the dense atmosphere in the vicinity ofthe surface being loaded with clouds, between whosemasses I could only now and then obtain a glimpse ofthe earth itself. This difficulty of direct vision had trou-bled me more or less for the last forty-eight hours; butmy present enormous elevation brought closer together,as it were, the floating bodies of vapor, and the inconve-nience became, of course, more and more palpable inproportion to my ascent. Nevertheless, I could easilyperceive that the balloon now hovered above the rangeof great lakes in the continent of North America, andwas holding a course, due south, which would bringme to the tropics. This circumstance did not fail to giveme the most heartful satisfaction, and I hailed it as ahappy omen of ultimate success. Indeed, the direction Ihad hitherto taken, had filled me with uneasiness; for itwas evident that, had I continued it much longer, therewould have been no possibility of my arriving at themoon at all, whose orbit is inclined to the ecliptic at onlythe small angle of 5 degrees 8’ 48”.“April 9th. To-day the earth’s diameter was greatly di-minished, and the color of the surface assumed hourlya deeper tint of yellow. The balloon kept steadily on hercourse to the southward, and arrived, at nine P.M., overthe northern edge of the Mexican Gulf.“April 10th. I was suddenly aroused from slumber,about five o’clock this morning, by a loud, crackling,and terrific sound, for which I could in no manner ac-

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count. It was of very brief duration, but, while it lastedresembled nothing in the world of which I had any pre-vious experience. It is needless to say that I becameexcessively alarmed, having, in the first instance, at-tributed the noise to the bursting of the balloon. I exam-ined all my apparatus, however, with great attention,and could discover nothing out of order. Spent a greatpart of the day in meditating upon an occurrence so ex-traordinary, but could find no means whatever of ac-counting for it. Went to bed dissatisfied, and in a stateof great anxiety and agitation.“April 11th. Found a startling diminution in the appar-ent diameter of the earth, and a considerable increase,now observable for the first time, in that of the moon it-self, which wanted only a few days of being full. It nowrequired long and excessive labor to condense withinthe chamber sufficient atmospheric air for the suste-nance of life.“April 12th. A singular alteration took place in regardto the direction of the balloon, and although fully antic-ipated, afforded me the most unequivocal delight. Hav-ing reached, in its former course, about the twentiethparallel of southern latitude, it turned off suddenly, atan acute angle, to the eastward, and thus proceededthroughout the day, keeping nearly, if not altogether,in the exact plane of the lunar elipse. What was wor-thy of remark, a very perceptible vacillation in the carwas a consequence of this change of route—a vacillationwhich prevailed, in a more or less degree, for a periodof many hours.“April 13th. Was again very much alarmed by a rep-etition of the loud, crackling noise which terrified meon the tenth. Thought long upon the subject, but wasunable to form any satisfactory conclusion. Great de-crease in the earth’s apparent diameter, which now sub-tended from the balloon an angle of very little more thantwenty-five degrees. The moon could not be seen at all,being nearly in my zenith. I still continued in the planeof the elipse, but made little progress to the eastward.

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“April 14th. Extremely rapid decrease in the diameterof the earth. To-day I became strongly impressed withthe idea, that the balloon was now actually runningup the line of apsides to the point of perigee—in otherwords, holding the direct course which would bring itimmediately to the moon in that part of its orbit thenearest to the earth. The moon itself was directly over-head, and consequently hidden from my view. Greatand long-continued labor necessary for the condensa-tion of the atmosphere.“April 15th. Not even the outlines of continents andseas could now be traced upon the earth with any-thing approaching distinctness. About twelve o’clockI became aware, for the third time, of that appallingsound which had so astonished me before. It now, how-ever, continued for some moments, and gathered inten-sity as it continued. At length, while, stupefied andterror-stricken, I stood in expectation of I knew not whathideous destruction, the car vibrated with excessive vi-olence, and a gigantic and flaming mass of some mate-rial which I could not distinguish, came with a voice ofa thousand thunders, roaring and booming by the bal-loon. When my fears and astonishment had in somedegree subsided, I had little difficulty in supposing itto be some mighty volcanic fragment ejected from thatworld to which I was so rapidly approaching, and, in allprobability, one of that singular class of substances oc-casionally picked up on the earth, and termed meteoricstones for want of a better appellation.“April 16th. To-day, looking upward as well as I could,through each of the side windows alternately, I beheld,to my great delight, a very small portion of the moon’sdisk protruding, as it were, on all sides beyond the hugecircumference of the balloon. My agitation was extreme;for I had now little doubt of soon reaching the end ofmy perilous voyage. Indeed, the labor now requiredby the condenser had increased to a most oppressivedegree, and allowed me scarcely any respite from ex-ertion. Sleep was a matter nearly out of the question. I

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became quite ill, and my frame trembled with exhaus-tion. It was impossible that human nature could endurethis state of intense suffering much longer. During thenow brief interval of darkness a meteoric stone againpassed in my vicinity, and the frequency of these phe-nomena began to occasion me much apprehension.

“April 17th. This morning proved an epoch in my voy-age. It will be remembered that, on the thirteenth, theearth subtended an angular breadth of twenty-five de-grees. On the fourteenth this had greatly diminished;on the fifteenth a still more remarkable decrease was ob-servable; and, on retiring on the night of the sixteenth,I had noticed an angle of no more than about seven de-grees and fifteen minutes. What, therefore, must havebeen my amazement, on awakening from a brief anddisturbed slumber, on the morning of this day, the sev-enteenth, at finding the surface beneath me so suddenlyand wonderfully augmented in volume, as to subtendno less than thirty-nine degrees in apparent angulardiameter! I was thunderstruck! No words can giveany adequate idea of the extreme, the absolute horrorand astonishment, with which I was seized possessed,and altogether overwhelmed. My knees tottered be-neath me—my teeth chattered—my hair started up onend. “The balloon, then, had actually burst!” Thesewere the first tumultuous ideas that hurried throughmy mind: “The balloon had positively burst!—I wasfalling—falling with the most impetuous, the most un-paralleled velocity! To judge by the immense distancealready so quickly passed over, it could not be morethan ten minutes, at the farthest, before I should meetthe surface of the earth, and be hurled into annihila-tion!” But at length reflection came to my relief. Ipaused; I considered; and I began to doubt. The mat-ter was impossible. I could not in any reason have sorapidly come down. Besides, although I was evidentlyapproaching the surface below me, it was with a speedby no means commensurate with the velocity I had atfirst so horribly conceived. This consideration served

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to calm the perturbation of my mind, and I finally suc-ceeded in regarding the phenomenon in its proper pointof view. In fact, amazement must have fairly deprivedme of my senses, when I could not see the vast differ-ence, in appearance, between the surface below me, andthe surface of my mother earth. The latter was indeedover my head, and completely hidden by the balloon,while the moon—the moon itself in all its glory—lay be-neath me, and at my feet.“The stupor and surprise produced in my mind by thisextraordinary change in the posture of affairs was per-haps, after all, that part of the adventure least suscep-tible of explanation. For the bouleversement in itselfwas not only natural and inevitable, but had been longactually anticipated as a circumstance to be expectedwhenever I should arrive at that exact point of my voy-age where the attraction of the planet should be super-seded by the attraction of the satellite—or, more pre-cisely, where the gravitation of the balloon toward theearth should be less powerful than its gravitation to-ward the moon. To be sure I arose from a sound slum-ber, with all my senses in confusion, to the contempla-tion of a very startling phenomenon, and one which, al-though expected, was not expected at the moment. Therevolution itself must, of course, have taken place in aneasy and gradual manner, and it is by no means clearthat, had I even been awake at the time of the occur-rence, I should have been made aware of it by any in-ternal evidence of an inversion—that is to say, by anyinconvenience or disarrangement, either about my per-son or about my apparatus.“It is almost needless to say that, upon coming to adue sense of my situation, and emerging from the ter-ror which had absorbed every faculty of my soul, myattention was, in the first place, wholly directed to thecontemplation of the general physical appearance of themoon. It lay beneath me like a chart—and although Ijudged it to be still at no inconsiderable distance, the in-dentures of its surface were defined to my vision with

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a most striking and altogether unaccountable distinct-ness. The entire absence of ocean or sea, and indeed ofany lake or river, or body of water whatsoever, struckme, at first glance, as the most extraordinary feature inits geological condition. Yet, strange to say, I beheld vastlevel regions of a character decidedly alluvial, althoughby far the greater portion of the hemisphere in sight wascovered with innumerable volcanic mountains, conicalin shape, and having more the appearance of artificialthan of natural protuberance. The highest among themdoes not exceed three and three-quarter miles in per-pendicular elevation; but a map of the volcanic districtsof the Campi Phlegraei would afford to your Excellen-cies a better idea of their general surface than any un-worthy description I might think proper to attempt. Thegreater part of them were in a state of evident eruption,and gave me fearfully to understand their fury and theirpower, by the repeated thunders of the miscalled mete-oric stones, which now rushed upward by the balloonwith a frequency more and more appalling.

“April 18th. To-day I found an enormous increase inthe moon’s apparent bulk—and the evidently acceler-ated velocity of my descent began to fill me with alarm.It will be remembered, that, in the earliest stage of myspeculations upon the possibility of a passage to themoon, the existence, in its vicinity, of an atmosphere,dense in proportion to the bulk of the planet, had en-tered largely into my calculations; this too in spite ofmany theories to the contrary, and, it may be added, inspite of a general disbelief in the existence of any lu-nar atmosphere at all. But, in addition to what I havealready urged in regard to Encke’s comet and the zo-diacal light, I had been strengthened in my opinion bycertain observations of Mr. Schroeter, of Lilienthal. Heobserved the moon when two days and a half old, inthe evening soon after sunset, before the dark part wasvisible, and continued to watch it until it became visi-ble. The two cusps appeared tapering in a very sharpfaint prolongation, each exhibiting its farthest extremity

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faintly illuminated by the solar rays, before any part ofthe dark hemisphere was visible. Soon afterward, thewhole dark limb became illuminated. This prolonga-tion of the cusps beyond the semicircle, I thought, musthave arisen from the refraction of the sun’s rays by themoon’s atmosphere. I computed, also, the height of theatmosphere (which could refract light enough into itsdark hemisphere to produce a twilight more luminousthan the light reflected from the earth when the moonis about 32 degrees from the new) to be 1,356 Paris feet;in this view, I supposed the greatest height capable ofrefracting the solar ray, to be 5,376 feet. My ideas onthis topic had also received confirmation by a passagein the eighty-second volume of the Philosophical Trans-actions, in which it is stated that at an occultation ofJupiter’s satellites, the third disappeared after havingbeen about 1” or 2” of time indistinct, and the fourthbecame indiscernible near the limb.3

“Cassini frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter, and thefixed stars, when approaching the moon to occultation,to have their circular figure changed into an oval one;and, in other occultations, he found no alteration of fig-ure at all. Hence it might be supposed, that at sometimes and not at others, there is a dense matter encom-passing the moon wherein the rays of the stars are re-fracted.

“Upon the resistance or, more properly, upon the sup-port of an atmosphere, existing in the state of densityimagined, I had, of course, entirely depended for thesafety of my ultimate descent. Should I then, afterall, prove to have been mistaken, I had in consequence

3Havelius writes that he has several times found, in skies perfectly clear,when even stars of the sixth and seventh magnitude were conspicuous, that,at the same altitude of the moon, at the same elongation from the earth, andwith one and the same excellent telescope, the moon and its maculae did notappear equally lucid at all times. From the circumstances of the observation, itis evident that the cause of this phenomenon is not either in our air, in the tube,in the moon, or in the eye of the spectator, but must be looked for in something(an atmosphere?) existing about the moon.

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nothing better to expect, as a finale to my adventure,than being dashed into atoms against the rugged sur-face of the satellite. And, indeed, I had now every rea-son to be terrified. My distance from the moon wascomparatively trifling, while the labor required by thecondenser was diminished not at all, and I could dis-cover no indication whatever of a decreasing rarity inthe air.

“April 19th. This morning, to my great joy, about nineo’clock, the surface of the moon being frightfully near,and my apprehensions excited to the utmost, the pumpof my condenser at length gave evident tokens of an al-teration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had reason to be-lieve its density considerably increased. By eleven, verylittle labor was necessary at the apparatus; and at twelveo’clock, with some hesitation, I ventured to unscrew thetourniquet, when, finding no inconvenience from hav-ing done so, I finally threw open the gum-elastic cham-ber, and unrigged it from around the car. As might havebeen expected, spasms and violent headache were theimmediate consequences of an experiment so precipi-tate and full of danger. But these and other difficultiesattending respiration, as they were by no means so greatas to put me in peril of my life, I determined to endureas I best could, in consideration of my leaving them be-hind me momently in my approach to the denser stratanear the moon. This approach, however, was still im-petuous in the extreme; and it soon became alarminglycertain that, although I had probably not been deceivedin the expectation of an atmosphere dense in proportionto the mass of the satellite, still I had been wrong in sup-posing this density, even at the surface, at all adequateto the support of the great weight contained in the car ofmy balloon. Yet this should have been the case, and inan equal degree as at the surface of the earth, the actualgravity of bodies at either planet supposed in the ratioof the atmospheric condensation. That it was not thecase, however, my precipitous downfall gave testimonyenough; why it was not so, can only be explained by

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a reference to those possible geological disturbances towhich I have formerly alluded. At all events I was nowclose upon the planet, and coming down with the mostterrible impetuosity. I lost not a moment, accordingly,in throwing overboard first my ballast, then my water-kegs, then my condensing apparatus and gum-elasticchamber, and finally every article within the car. But itwas all to no purpose. I still fell with horrible rapidity,and was now not more than half a mile from the sur-face. As a last resource, therefore, having got rid of mycoat, hat, and boots, I cut loose from the balloon the caritself, which was of no inconsiderable weight, and thus,clinging with both hands to the net-work, I had barelytime to observe that the whole country, as far as theeye could reach, was thickly interspersed with diminu-tive habitations, ere I tumbled headlong into the veryheart of a fantastical-looking city, and into the middleof a vast crowd of ugly little people, who none of themuttered a single syllable, or gave themselves the leasttrouble to render me assistance, but stood, like a parcelof idiots, grinning in a ludicrous manner, and eyeing meand my balloon askant, with their arms set a-kimbo. Iturned from them in contempt, and, gazing upward atthe earth so lately left, and left perhaps for ever, beheldit like a huge, dull, copper shield, about two degreesin diameter, fixed immovably in the heavens overhead,and tipped on one of its edges with a crescent border ofthe most brilliant gold. No traces of land or water couldbe discovered, and the whole was clouded with variablespots, and belted with tropical and equatorial zones.

“Thus, may it please your Excellencies, after a series ofgreat anxieties, unheard of dangers, and unparalleledescapes, I had, at length, on the nineteenth day of mydeparture from Rotterdam, arrived in safety at the con-clusion of a voyage undoubtedly the most extraordi-nary, and the most momentous, ever accomplished, un-dertaken, or conceived by any denizen of earth. Butmy adventures yet remain to be related. And indeedyour Excellencies may well imagine that, after a resi-

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dence of five years upon a planet not only deeply inter-esting in its own peculiar character, but rendered dou-bly so by its intimate connection, in capacity of satellite,with the world inhabited by man, I may have intelli-gence for the private ear of the States’ College of As-tronomers of far more importance than the details, how-ever wonderful, of the mere voyage which so happilyconcluded. This is, in fact, the case. I have much—verymuch which it would give me the greatest pleasure tocommunicate. I have much to say of the climate of theplanet; of its wonderful alternations of heat and cold,of unmitigated and burning sunshine for one fortnight,and more than polar frigidity for the next; of a constanttransfer of moisture, by distillation like that in vacuo,from the point beneath the sun to the point the farthestfrom it; of a variable zone of running water, of the peo-ple themselves; of their manners, customs, and politi-cal institutions; of their peculiar physical construction;of their ugliness; of their want of ears, those uselessappendages in an atmosphere so peculiarly modified;of their consequent ignorance of the use and proper-ties of speech; of their substitute for speech in a sin-gular method of inter-communication; of the incom-prehensible connection between each particular indi-vidual in the moon with some particular individual onthe earth—a connection analogous with, and depend-ing upon, that of the orbs of the planet and the satellites,and by means of which the lives and destinies of the in-habitants of the one are interwoven with the lives anddestinies of the inhabitants of the other; and above all, ifit so please your Excellencies—above all, of those darkand hideous mysteries which lie in the outer regions ofthe moon—regions which, owing to the almost miracu-lous accordance of the satellite’s rotation on its own axiswith its sidereal revolution about the earth, have neveryet been turned, and, by God’s mercy, never shall beturned, to the scrutiny of the telescopes of man. All this,and more—much more—would I most willingly detail.But, to be brief, I must have my reward. I am pining for

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a return to my family and to my home, and as the priceof any farther communication on my part—in consider-ation of the light which I have it in my power to throwupon many very important branches of physical andmetaphysical science—I must solicit, through the influ-ence of your honorable body, a pardon for the crime ofwhich I have been guilty in the death of the creditorsupon my departure from Rotterdam. This, then, is theobject of the present paper. Its bearer, an inhabitant ofthe moon, whom I have prevailed upon, and properlyinstructed, to be my messenger to the earth, will awaityour Excellencies’ pleasure, and return to me with thepardon in question, if it can, in any manner, be obtained.“I have the honor to be, etc., your Excellencies’ veryhumble servant,“HANS PFAALL.”

Upon finishing the perusal of this very extraordinary document,Professor Rub-a-dub, it is said, dropped his pipe upon the groundin the extremity of his surprise, and Mynheer Superbus Von Un-derduk having taken off his spectacles, wiped them, and depositedthem in his pocket, so far forgot both himself and his dignity, asto turn round three times upon his heel in the quintessence of as-tonishment and admiration. There was no doubt about the mat-ter—the pardon should be obtained. So at least swore, with a roundoath, Professor Rub-a-dub, and so finally thought the illustriousVon Underduk, as he took the arm of his brother in science, andwithout saying a word, began to make the best of his way home todeliberate upon the measures to be adopted. Having reached thedoor, however, of the burgomaster’s dwelling, the professor ven-tured to suggest that as the messenger had thought proper to dis-appear—no doubt frightened to death by the savage appearance ofthe burghers of Rotterdam—the pardon would be of little use, as noone but a man of the moon would undertake a voyage to so vast adistance. To the truth of this observation the burgomaster assented,and the matter was therefore at an end. Not so, however, rumorsand speculations. The letter, having been published, gave rise to avariety of gossip and opinion. Some of the over-wise even madethemselves ridiculous by decrying the whole business; as nothing

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better than a hoax. But hoax, with these sort of people, is, I believe,a general term for all matters above their comprehension. For mypart, I cannot conceive upon what data they have founded such anaccusation. Let us see what they say:

Imprimus. That certain wags in Rotterdam have certain especialantipathies to certain burgomasters and astronomers.

Don’t understand at all.Secondly. That an odd little dwarf and bottle conjurer, both of

whose ears, for some misdemeanor, have been cut off close to hishead, has been missing for several days from the neighboring cityof Bruges.

Well—what of that?Thirdly. That the newspapers which were stuck all over the little

balloon were newspapers of Holland, and therefore could not havebeen made in the moon. They were dirty papers—very dirty—andGluck, the printer, would take his Bible oath to their having beenprinted in Rotterdam.

He was mistaken—undoubtedly—mistaken.Fourthly, That Hans Pfaall himself, the drunken villain, and the

three very idle gentlemen styled his creditors, were all seen, nolonger than two or three days ago, in a tippling house in the sub-urbs, having just returned, with money in their pockets, from a tripbeyond the sea.

Don’t believe it—don’t believe a word of it.Lastly. That it is an opinion very generally received, or which

ought to be generally received, that the College of Astronomers inthe city of Rotterdam, as well as other colleges in all other partsof the world,—not to mention colleges and astronomers in gen-eral,—are, to say the least of the matter, not a whit better, norgreater, nor wiser than they ought to be.

Notes to Hans Pfaal

Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity between the abovesketchy trifle and the celebrated “Moon-Story” of Mr. Locke; butas both have the character of hoaxes (although the one is in a tone

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of banter, the other of downright earnest), and as both hoaxes areon the same subject, the moon—moreover, as both attempt to giveplausibility by scientific detail—the author of “Hans Pfaall” thinksit necessary to say, in self-defence, that his own jeu d’esprit waspublished in the “Southern Literary Messenger” about three weeksbefore the commencement of Mr. L’s in the “New York Sun.” Fan-cying a likeness which, perhaps, does not exist, some of the NewYork papers copied “Hans Pfaall,” and collated it with the “Moon-Hoax,” by way of detecting the writer of the one in the writer of theother.

As many more persons were actually gulled by the “Moon-Hoax” than would be willing to acknowledge the fact, it may hereafford some little amusement to show why no one should havebeen deceived-to point out those particulars of the story whichshould have been sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed,however rich the imagination displayed in this ingenious fiction,it wanted much of the force which might have been given it by amore scrupulous attention to facts and to general analogy. That thepublic were misled, even for an instant, merely proves the grossignorance which is so generally prevalent upon subjects of an as-tronomical nature.

The moon’s distance from the earth is, in round numbers, 240,000miles. If we desire to ascertain how near, apparently, a lens wouldbring the satellite (or any distant object), we, of course, have butto divide the distance by the magnifying or, more strictly, by thespace-penetrating power of the glass. Mr. L. makes his lens havea power of 42,000 times. By this divide 240,000 (the moon’s realdistance), and we have five miles and five sevenths, as the appar-ent distance. No animal at all could be seen so far; much less theminute points particularized in the story. Mr. L. speaks about SirJohn Herschel’s perceiving flowers (the Papaver rheas, etc.), andeven detecting the color and the shape of the eyes of small birds.Shortly before, too, he has himself observed that the lens would notrender perceptible objects of less than eighteen inches in diameter;but even this, as I have said, is giving the glass by far too greatpower. It may be observed, in passing, that this prodigious glass issaid to have been molded at the glasshouse of Messrs. Hartley andGrant, in Dumbarton; but Messrs. H. and G.‘s establishment hadceased operations for many years previous to the publication of the

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hoax.On page 13, pamphlet edition, speaking of “a hairy veil” over the

eyes of a species of bison, the author says: “It immediately occurredto the acute mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a providential con-trivance to protect the eyes of the animal from the great extremesof light and darkness to which all the inhabitants of our side of themoon are periodically subjected.” But this cannot be thought a very“acute” observation of the Doctor’s. The inhabitants of our side ofthe moon have, evidently, no darkness at all, so there can be noth-ing of the “extremes” mentioned. In the absence of the sun theyhave a light from the earth equal to that of thirteen full uncloudedmoons.

The topography throughout, even when professing to accordwith Blunt’s Lunar Chart, is entirely at variance with that or anyother lunar chart, and even grossly at variance with itself. Thepoints of the compass, too, are in inextricable confusion; the writerappearing to be ignorant that, on a lunar map, these are not in ac-cordance with terrestrial points; the east being to the left, etc.

Deceived, perhaps, by the vague titles, Mare Nubium, MareTranquillitatis, Mare Faecunditatis, etc., given to the dark spotsby former astronomers, Mr. L. has entered into details regardingoceans and other large bodies of water in the moon; whereas thereis no astronomical point more positively ascertained than that nosuch bodies exist there. In examining the boundary between lightand darkness (in the crescent or gibbous moon) where this bound-ary crosses any of the dark places, the line of division is found tobe rough and jagged; but, were these dark places liquid, it wouldevidently be even.

The description of the wings of the man-bat, on page 21, is buta literal copy of Peter Wilkins’ account of the wings of his flyingislanders. This simple fact should have induced suspicion, at least,it might be thought.

On page 23, we have the following: “What a prodigious influ-ence must our thirteen times larger globe have exercised upon thissatellite when an embryo in the womb of time, the passive subjectof chemical affinity!” This is very fine; but it should be observedthat no astronomer would have made such remark, especially toany journal of Science; for the earth, in the sense intended, is not

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only thirteen, but forty-nine times larger than the moon. A similarobjection applies to the whole of the concluding pages, where, byway of introduction to some discoveries in Saturn, the philosoph-ical correspondent enters into a minute schoolboy account of thatplanet—this to the “Edinburgh journal of Science!”

But there is one point, in particular, which should have betrayedthe fiction. Let us imagine the power actually possessed of seeinganimals upon the moon’s surface—what would first arrest the at-tention of an observer from the earth? Certainly neither their shape,size, nor any other such peculiarity, so soon as their remarkable sit-uation. They would appear to be walking, with heels up and headdown, in the manner of flies on a ceiling. The real observer wouldhave uttered an instant ejaculation of surprise (however preparedby previous knowledge) at the singularity of their position; the fic-titious observer has not even mentioned the subject, but speaks ofseeing the entire bodies of such creatures, when it is demonstrablethat he could have seen only the diameter of their heads!

It might as well be remarked, in conclusion, that the size, andparticularly the powers of the man-bats (for example, their abilityto fly in so rare an atmosphere—if, indeed, the moon have any),with most of the other fancies in regard to animal and vegetable ex-istence, are at variance, generally, with all analogical reasoning onthese themes; and that analogy here will often amount to conclu-sive demonstration. It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add, thatall the suggestions attributed to Brewster and Herschel, in the be-ginning of the article, about “a transfusion of artificial light throughthe focal object of vision,” etc., etc., belong to that species of figura-tive writing which comes, most properly, under the denominationof rigmarole.

There is a real and very definite limit to optical discovery amongthe stars—a limit whose nature need only be stated to be under-stood. If, indeed, the casting of large lenses were all that is required,man’s ingenuity would ultimately prove equal to the task, and wemight have them of any size demanded. But, unhappily, in propor-tion to the increase of size in the lens, and consequently of space-penetrating power, is the diminution of light from the object, bydiffusion of its rays. And for this evil there is no remedy withinhuman ability; for an object is seen by means of that light alonewhich proceeds from itself, whether direct or reflected. Thus the

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only “artificial” light which could avail Mr. Locke, would be someartificial light which he should be able to throw-not upon the “fo-cal object of vision,” but upon the real object to be viewed-to wit:upon the moon. It has been easily calculated that, when the lightproceeding from a star becomes so diffused as to be as weak as thenatural light proceeding from the whole of the stars, in a clear andmoonless night, then the star is no longer visible for any practicalpurpose.

The Earl of Ross’s telescope, lately constructed in England, has aspeculum with a reflecting surface of 4,071 square inches; the Her-schel telescope having one of only 1,811. The metal of the Earl ofRoss’s is 6 feet diameter; it is 5 1/2 inches thick at the edges, and 5at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The focal length is 50 feet.

I have lately read a singular and somewhat ingenious little book,whose title-page runs thus:

“L’Homme dans la lvne ou le Voyage Chimerique faitau Monde de la Lvne, nouellement decouvert par Do-minique Gonzales, Aduanturier Espagnol, autremæt ditle Courier volant. Mis en notre langve par J. B. D.A. Paris, chez Francois Piot, pres la Fontaine de SaintBenoist. Et chez J. Goignard, au premier pilier de lagrand’salle du Palais, proche les Consultations, MD-CXLVII.” Pp. 76.

The writer professes to have translated his work from the En-glish of one Mr. D’Avisson (Davidson?) although there is a terri-ble ambiguity in the statement. “J’ en ai eu,” says he “l’originalde Monsieur D’Avisson, medecin des mieux versez qui soient au-jourd’huy dans la cænoissance des Belles Lettres, et sur tout de laPhilosophic Naturelle. Je lui ai cette obligation entre les autres, dem’ auoir non seulement mis en main cc Livre en anglois, mais en-core le Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D’Anan, gentilhomme Eccos-sois, recommandable pour sa vertu, sur la version duquel j’ advoueque j’ ay tiræ le plan de la mienne.”

After some irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of GilBlas, and which occupy the first thirty pages, the author relates

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that, being ill during a sea voyage, the crew abandoned him, to-gether with a negro servant, on the island of St. Helena. To in-crease the chances of obtaining food, the two separate, and live asfar apart as possible. This brings about a training of birds, to servethe purpose of carrier-pigeons between them. By and by these aretaught to carry parcels of some weight-and this weight is gradu-ally increased. At length the idea is entertained of uniting the forceof a great number of the birds, with a view to raising the authorhimself. A machine is contrived for the purpose, and we have aminute description of it, which is materially helped out by a steelengraving. Here we perceive the Signor Gonzales, with point ruf-fles and a huge periwig, seated astride something which resemblesvery closely a broomstick, and borne aloft by a multitude of wildswans (ganzas) who had strings reaching from their tails to the ma-chine.

The main event detailed in the Signor’s narrative depends upona very important fact, of which the reader is kept in ignorance untilnear the end of the book. The ganzas, with whom he had becomeso familiar, were not really denizens of St. Helena, but of the moon.Thence it had been their custom, time out of mind, to migrate annu-ally to some portion of the earth. In proper season, of course, theywould return home; and the author, happening, one day, to requiretheir services for a short voyage, is unexpectedly carried straighttip, and in a very brief period arrives at the satellite. Here he finds,among other odd things, that the people enjoy extreme happiness;that they have no law; that they die without pain; that they are fromten to thirty feet in height; that they live five thousand years; thatthey have an emperor called Irdonozur; and that they can jumpsixty feet high, when, being out of the gravitating influence, theyfly about with fans.

I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general philosophy ofthe volume.

“I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that sideof the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they wereto it the larger they seemed. I have also me and the earth. As to thestars, since there was no night where I was, they always had thesame appearance; not brilliant, as usual, but pale, and very nearlylike the moon of a morning. But few of them were visible, andthese ten times larger (as well as I could judge) than they seem to

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the inhabitants of the earth. The moon, which wanted two days ofbeing full, was of a terrible bigness.

“I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that sideof the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they wereto it the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that, whetherit was calm weather or stormy, I found myself always immediatelybetween the moon and the earth. I was convinced of this for tworeasons-because my birds always flew in a straight line; and be-cause whenever we attempted to rest, we were carried insensiblyaround the globe of the earth. For I admit the opinion of Coperni-cus, who maintains that it never ceases to revolve from the east tothe west, not upon the poles

of the Equinoctial, commonly called the poles of the world, butupon those of the Zodiac, a question of which I propose to speakmore at length here-after, when I shall have leisure to refresh mymemory in regard to the astrology which I learned at Salamancawhen young, and have since forgotten.”

Notwithstanding the blunders italicized, the book is not with-out some claim to attention, as affording a naive specimen of thecurrent astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed,that the “gravitating power” extended but a short distance fromthe earth’s surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager “carriedinsensibly around the globe,” etc.

There have been other “voyages to the moon,” but none of highermerit than the one just mentioned. That of Bergerac is utterly mean-ingless. In the third volume of the “American Quarterly Review”will be found quite an elaborate criticism upon a certain “journey”of the kind in question—a criticism in which it is difficult to saywhether the critic most exposes the stupidity of the book, or hisown absurd ignorance of astronomy. I forget the title of the work;but the means of the voyage are more deplorably ill conceived thanare even the ganzas of our friend the Signor Gonzales. The adven-turer, in digging the earth, happens to discover a peculiar metal forwhich the moon has a strong attraction, and straightway constructsof it a box, which, when cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings,flies with him, forthwith, to the satellite. The “Flight of ThomasO’Rourke,” is a jeu d’ esprit not altogether contemptible, and hasbeen translated into German. Thomas, the hero, was, in fact, the

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gamekeeper of an Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to thetale. The “flight” is made on an eagle’s back, from Hungry Hill, alofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay.

In these various brochures the aim is always satirical; the themebeing a description of Lunarian customs as compared with ours. Innone is there any effort at plausibility in the details of the voyageitself. The writers seem, in each instance, to be utterly uninformedin respect to astronomy. In “Hans Pfaall” the design is original,inasmuch as regards an attempt at verisimilitude, in the applica-tion of scientific principles (so far as the whimsical nature of thesubject would permit), to the actual passage between the earth andthe moon.

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What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.–All in the Wrong.

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. WilliamLegrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had oncebeen wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want.To avoid the mortification consequent upon his disasters, he leftNew Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and took up his residenceat Sullivan’s Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. This Island isa very singular one. It consists of little else than the sea sand, and isabout three miles long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter ofa mile. It is separated from the main land by a scarcely perceptiblecreek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, afavorite resort of the marsh hen. The vegetation, as might be sup-posed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitudeare to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultriestands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted,during summer, by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever,may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole island,with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard, whitebeach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of thesweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England. Theshrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, andforms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with itsfragrance.

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In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern ormore remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a smallhut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his ac-quaintance. This soon ripened into friendship–for there was muchin the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well ed-ucated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misan-thropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm andmelancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely employedthem. His chief amusements were gunning and fishing, or saun-tering along the beach and through the myrtles, in quest of shellsor entomological specimens;–his collection of the latter might havebeen envied by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was usu-ally accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter, who had beenmanumitted before the reverses of the family, but who could beinduced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what heconsidered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young"Massa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand, con-ceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived toinstil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision andguardianship of the wanderer.

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan’s Island are seldom verysevere, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed whena fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18-,there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just beforesunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut ofmy friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks–my residencebeing, at that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from theIsland, while the facilities of passage and re-passage were very farbehind those of the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped,as was my custom, and getting no reply, sought for the key whereI knew it was secreted, unlocked the door and went in. A fine firewas blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means anungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an arm-chair by thecrackling logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts.

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial wel-come. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to preparesome marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits–howelse shall I term them?–of enthusiasm. He had found an unknownbivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted

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down and secured, with Jupiter’s assistance, a scarabæus which hebelieved to be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to havemy opinion on the morrow.

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands over theblaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarabæi at the devil.

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it’sso long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you wouldpay me a visit this very night of all others? As I was coming homeI met Lieutenant G–, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent himthe bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning.Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It isthe loveliest thing in creation!"

"What?–sunrise?""Nonsense! no!–the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color–about the

size of a large hickory-nut–with two jet black spots near one ex-tremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other.The antennæ are–"

"Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you," hereinterrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole bug, solid, ebery bit of him,inside and all, sep him wing–neber feel half so hebby a bug in mylife."

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat moreearnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that anyreason for your letting the birds burn? The color"–here he turnedto me–"is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter’s idea. You neversaw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emit–but of thisyou cannot judge till tomorrow. In the mean time I can give yousome idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a smalltable, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked forsome in a drawer, but found none.

"Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer;" and he drewfrom his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirtyfoolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. Whilehe did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. Whenthe design was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As Ireceived it, a loud growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching atthe door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging

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to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded mewith caresses; for I had shown him much attention during previousvisits. When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, tospeak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled at what my friendhad depicted.

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, "this is astrange scarabæus, I must confess: new to me: never saw anythinglike it before–unless it was a skull, or a death’s-head–which it morenearly resembles than anything else that has come under my obser-vation."

"A death’s-head!" echoed Legrand–"Oh–yes–well, it has some-thing of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upperblack spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom likea mouth–and then the shape of the whole is oval."

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I mustwait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of its per-sonal appearance."

"Well, I don’t know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw tolerably–should do it at least–have had good masters, and flatter myself thatI am not quite a blockhead."

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is a verypassable skull–indeed, I may say that it is a very excellent skull, ac-cording to the vulgar notions about such specimens of physiology–and your scarabæus must be the queerest scarabæus in the worldif it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit of super-stition upon this hint. I presume you will call the bug scarabæuscaput hominis, or something of that kind–there are many similar ti-tles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antennæ you spokeof?"

"The antennæ!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unac-countably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must see the an-tennæ. I made them as distinct as they are in the original insect,and I presume that is sufficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have–still I don’t see them;" andI handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishingto ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn affairshad taken; his ill humor puzzled me–and, as for the drawing of the

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beetle, there were positively no antennæ visible, and the whole didbear a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death’s-head.

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crum-ple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance atthe design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant hisface grew violently red–in another as excessively pale. For someminutes he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely where hesat. At length he arose, took a candle from the table, and proceededto seat himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room.Here again he made an anxious examination of the paper; turning itin all directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatlyastonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate the grow-ing moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently he tookfrom his coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, anddeposited both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now grewmore composed in his demeanor; but his original air of enthusi-asm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky asabstracted. As the evening wore away he became more and moreabsorbed in reverie, from which no sallies of mine could arousehim. It had been my intention to pass the night at the hut, as I hadfrequently done before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemedit proper to take leave. He did not press me to remain, but, as I de-parted, he shook my hand with even more than his usual cordiality.

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had seennothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from hisman, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so dispirited,and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my friend.

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?–how is your master?""Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought

be.""Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?""Dar! dat’s it!–him neber plain of notin–but him berry sick for all

dat.""Very sick, Jupiter!–why didn’t you say so at once? Is he confined

to bed?""No, dat he aint!–he aint find nowhar–dat’s just whar de shoe

pinch–my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor Massa Will."

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"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talkingabout. You say your master is sick. Hasn’t he told you what ailshim?"

"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad about de matter–Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him–but den whatmake him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down andhe soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a syphonall de time–"

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?""Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate–de queerest figgurs

I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to keepmighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip forede sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a bigstick ready cut for to gib him deuced good beating when he didcome–but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn’t de heart arter all–he look soberry poorly."

"Eh?–what?–ah yes!–upon the whole I think you had better notbe too severe with the poor fellow–don’t flog him, Jupiter–he can’tvery well stand it–but can you form no idea of what has occasionedthis illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anything un-pleasant happened since I saw you?"

"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin unpleasant since den–’twas foreden I’m feared–’twas de berry day you was dare."

"How? what do you mean?""Why, massa, I mean de bug–dare now.""The what?""De bug,–I’m berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere

bout de head by dat goole-bug.""And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?""Claws enuff, massa, and mouth too. I nebber did see sick a

deuced bug–he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him.Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go gin mightyquick, I tell you–den was de time he must ha got de bite. I did n’tlike de look oh de bug mouff, myself, no how, so I would n’t takehold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper

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dat I found. I rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in hemouff–dat was de way."

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by thebeetle, and that the bite made him sick?"

"I do n’t tink noffin about it–I nose it. What make him dreambout de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Iseheerd bout dem goole-bugs fore dis."

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?""How I know? why cause he talk about it in he sleep–dat’s how I

nose.""Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate circum-

stance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you to-day?""What de matter, massa?""Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?""No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;" and here Jupiter handed me

a note which ran thus:

MY DEAR —-Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope youhave not been so foolish as to take offence at any littlebrusquerie of mine; but no, that is improbable. SinceI saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I havesomething to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it,or whether I should tell it at all.I have not been quite well for some days past, andpoor old Jup annoys me, almost beyond endurance, byhis well-meant attentions Would you believe it?–he hadprepared a huge stick, the other day, with which to chas-tise me for giving him the slip, and spending the day,solus, among the hills on the main land. I verily believethat my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come overwith Jupiter. Do come. I wish to see you to-night, upon

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business of importance. I assure you that it is of thehighest importance.Ever yours,WILLIAM LEGRAND.

There was something in the tone of this note which gave megreat uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that ofLegrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet pos-sessed his excitable brain? What "business of the highest impor-tance" could he possibly have to transact? Jupiter’s account of himboded no good. I dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortunehad, at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without amoment’s hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, allapparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we wereto embark.

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired."Him syfe, massa, and spade.""Very true; but what are they doing here?""Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying

for him in de town, and de debbils own lot of money I had to gibfor em."

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your ’MassaWill’ going to do with scythes and spades?"

"Dat’s more dan I know, and debbil take me if I don’t blieve ’tismore dan he know, too. But it’s all cum ob do bug."

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whosewhole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I now steppedinto the boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soonran into the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and awalk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three inthe afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us ineager expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous empresse-ment which alarmed me and strengthened the suspicions alreadyentertained. His countenance was pale even to ghastliness, and his

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deep-set eyes glared with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries re-specting his health, I asked him, not knowing what better to say, ifhe had yet obtained the scarabæus from Lieutenant G —-.

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from himthe next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with thatscarabæus. Do you know that Jupiter is quite right about it?"

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart."In supposing it to be a bug of real gold." He said this with an air

of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked."This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a tri-

umphant smile, "to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it anywonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to be-stow it upon me, I have only to use it properly and I shall arrive atthe gold of which it is the index. Jupiter; bring me that scarabæus!"

"What! de bug, massa? I’d rudder not go fer trubble dat bug–you mus git him for your own self." Hereupon Legrand arose, witha grave and stately air, and brought me the beetle from a glass casein which it was enclosed. It was a beautiful scarabæus, and, at thattime, unknown to naturalists–of course a great prize in a scientificpoint of view. There were two round, black spots near one extrem-ity of the back, and a long one near the other. The scales were ex-ceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of burnishedgold. The weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking allthings into consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opin-ion respecting it; but what to make of Legrand’s concordance withthat opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell.

"I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I had com-pleted my examination of the beetle, "I sent for you, that I mighthave your counsel and assistance in furthering the views of Fateand of the bug"–

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainlyunwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go tobed, and I will remain with you a few days, until you get over this.You are feverish and"–

"Feel my pulse," said he.I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest indication of

fever.

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"But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once toprescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next"–

"You are mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I can expect tobe under the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me well,you will relieve this excitement."

"And how is this to be done?""Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition

into the hills, upon the main land, and, in this expedition we shallneed the aid of some person in whom we can confide. You are theonly one we can trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitementwhich you now perceive in me will be equally allayed."

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied; "but do youmean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with yourexpedition into the hills?"

"It has.""Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd proceed-

ing.""I am sorry–very sorry–for we shall have to try it by ourselves.""Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad!–but stay!–how long

do you propose to be absent?""Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at

all events, by sunrise.""And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak

of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to yoursatisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice im-plicitly, as that of your physician?"

"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time tolose."

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started aboutfour o’clock–Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter hadwith him the scythe and spades–the whole of which he insistedupon carrying–more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting ei-ther of the implements within reach of his master, than from anyexcess of industry or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged inthe extreme, and "dat deuced bug" were the sole words which es-caped his lips during the journey. For my own part, I had charge

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of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented himself withthe scarabæus, which he carried attached to the end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of a conjuror, as he went.When I observed this last, plain evidence of my friend’s aberrationof mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, how-ever, to humor his fancy, at least for the present, or until I couldadopt some more energetic measures with a chance of success. Inthe mean time I endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him in regardto the object of the expedition. Having succeeded in inducing meto accompany him, he seemed unwilling to hold conversation uponany topic of minor importance, and to all my questions vouchsafedno other reply than "we shall see!"

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a skiff;and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the main land,proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a tract of countryexcessively wild and desolate, where no trace of a human footstepwas to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision; pausing only foran instant, here and there, to consult what appeared to be certainlandmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion.

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sunwas just setting when we entered a region infinitely more drearythan any yet seen. It was a species of table land, near the summitof an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinna-cle, and interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie looselyupon the soil, and in many cases were prevented from precipitat-ing themselves into the valleys below, merely by the support of thetrees against which they reclined. Deep ravines, in various direc-tions, gave an air of still sterner solemnity to the scene.

The natural platform to which we had clambered was thicklyovergrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered thatit would have been impossible to force our way but for the scythe;and Jupiter, by direction of his master, proceeded to clear for us apath to the foot of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood, withsome eight or ten oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all,and all other trees which I had then ever seen, in the beauty of itsfoliage and form, in the wide spread of its branches, and in the gen-eral majesty of its appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrandturned to Jupiter, and asked him if he thought he could climb it.The old man seemed a little staggered by the question, and for some

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moments made no reply. At length he approached the huge trunk,walked slowly around it, and examined it with minute attention.When he had completed his scrutiny, he merely said,

"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life.""Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark

to see what we are about.""How far mus go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter."Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way

to go–and here–stop! take this beetle with you.""De bug, Massa Will!–de goole bug!" cried the negro, drawing

back in dismay–"what for mus tote de bug way up de tree?–d-n if Ido!"

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold of aharmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up by this string–but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall be underthe necessity of breaking your head with this shovel."

"What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed intocompliance; "always want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was onlyfunnin any how. Me feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?" Herehe took cautiously hold of the extreme end of the string, and, main-taining the insect as far from his person as circumstances wouldpermit, prepared to ascend the tree.

In youth, the tulip-tree, or Liriodendron Tulipferum, the mostmagnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth,and often rises to a great height without lateral branches; but, in itsriper age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many shortlimbs make their appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty ofascension, in the present case, lay more in semblance than in reality.Embracing the huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with his armsand knees, seizing with his hands some projections, and resting hisnaked toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapesfrom falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great fork, andseemed to consider the whole business as virtually accomplished.The risk of the achievement was, in fact, now over, although theclimber was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.

"Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked.

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"Keep up the largest branch–the one on this side," said Legrand.The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but lit-tle trouble; ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of hissquat figure could be obtained through the dense foliage which en-veloped it. Presently his voice was heard in a sort of halloo.

"How much fudder is got for go?""How high up are you?" asked Legrand."Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob de

tree.""Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the

trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbshave you passed?"

"One, two, tree, four, fibe–I done pass fibe big limb, massa, pondis side."

"Then go one limb higher."In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the

seventh limb was attained."Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you

to work your way out upon that limb as far as you can. If yousee anything strange, let me know." By this time what little doubtI might have entertained of my poor friend’s insanity, was put fi-nally at rest. I had no alternative but to conclude him stricken withlunacy, and I became seriously anxious about getting him home.While I was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter’svoice was again heard.

"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far–tis dead limbputty much all de way."

"Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in aquavering voice.

"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail–done up for sartain–donedeparted dis here life."

"What in the name heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seeminglyin the greatest distress. "Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to inter-pose a word, "why come home and go to bed. Come now!–that’sa fine fellow. It’s getting late, and, besides, you remember yourpromise."

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"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hearme?"

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain.""Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it

very rotten.""Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few mo-

ments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur outleetle way pon de limb by myself, dat’s true."

"By yourself!–what do you mean?""Why I mean de bug. ’Tis berry hebby bug. Spose I drop him

down fuss, and den de limb won’t break wid just de weight ob onenigger."

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much re-lieved, "what do you mean by telling me such nonsense as that?As sure as you drop that beetle I’ll break your neck. Look here,Jupiter, do you hear me?"

"Yes, massa, needn’t hollo at poor nigger dat style.""Well! now listen!–if you will venture out on the limb as far as

you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I’ll make you a present ofa silver dollar as soon as you get down."

"I’m gwine, Massa Will–deed I is," replied the negro verypromptly–"mos out to the eend now."

"Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do you say youare out to the end of that limb?"

"Soon be to de eend, massa,–o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! whatis dis here pon de tree?"

"Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?""Why taint noffin but a skull–somebody bin lef him head up de

tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off.""A skull, you say!–very well!–how is it fastened to the limb?–

what holds it on?""Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why dis berry curous sarcumstance,

pon my word–dare’s a great big nail in de skull, what fastens ob iton to de tree."

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"Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you–do you hear?""Yes, massa.""Pay attention, then!–find the left eye of the skull.""Hum! hoo! dat’s good! why dare aint no eye lef at all.""Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your

left?""Yes, I nose dat–nose all bout dat–tis my lef hand what I chops de

wood wid.""To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is on the same

side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can find the left eye ofthe skull, or the place where the left eye has been. Have you foundit?"

Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked,"Is de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de

skull, too?–cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all–nebbermind! I got de lef eye now–here de lef eye! what mus do wid it?"

"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach–butbe careful and not let go your hold of the string."

"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug frude hole–look out for him dare below!"

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter’s person could be seen;but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was now visible atthe end of the string, and glistened, like a globe of burnished gold,in the last rays of the setting sun, some of which still faintly illu-mined the eminence upon which we stood. The scarabæus hungquite clear of any branches, and, if allowed to fall, would havefallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe, and clearedwith it a circular space, three or four yards in diameter, just beneaththe insect, and, having accomplished this, ordered Jupiter to let gothe string and come down from the tree.

Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground, at the precisespot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his pocketa tape measure. Fastening one end of this at that point of the trunk,of the tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it reachedthe peg, and thence farther unrolled it, in the direction already es-tablished by the two points of the tree and the peg, for the distance

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of fifty feet–Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scythe. Atthe spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about this, asa centre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter, described. Tak-ing now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and one to me,Legrand begged us to set about digging as quickly as possible.

To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amusementat any time, and, at that particular moment, would most willinglyhave declined it; for the night was coming on, and I felt much fa-tigued with the exercise already taken; but I saw no mode of escape,and was fearful of disturbing my poor friend’s equanimity by a re-fusal. Could I have depended, indeed, upon Jupiter’s aid, I wouldhave had no hesitation in attempting to get the lunatic home byforce; but I was too well assured of the old negro’s disposition, tohope that he would assist me, under any circumstances, in a per-sonal contest with his master. I made no doubt that the latter hadbeen infected with some of the innumerable Southern superstitionsabout money buried, and that his phantasy had received confirma-tion by the finding of the scarabæus, or, perhaps, by Jupiter’s obsti-nacy in maintaining it to be "a bug of real gold." A mind disposed tolunacy would readily be led away by such suggestions–especiallyif chiming in with favorite preconceived ideas–and then I called tomind the poor fellow’s speech about the beetle’s being "the index ofhis fortune." Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but,at length, I concluded to make a virtue of necessity–to dig with agood will, and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by oculardemonstration, of the fallacy of the opinions he entertained.

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal wor-thy a more rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon our personsand implements, I could not help thinking how picturesque a groupwe composed, and how strange and suspicious our labors musthave appeared to any interloper who, by chance, might have stum-bled upon our whereabouts.

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and ourchief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took ex-ceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at length, became so ob-streperous that we grew fearful of his giving the alarm to somestragglers in the vicinity;–or, rather, this was the apprehension ofLegrand;–for myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruptionwhich might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise

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was, at length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter, who, getting outof the hole with a dogged air of deliberation, tied the brute’s mouthup with one of his suspenders, and then returned, with a gravechuckle, to his task.

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depthof five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. Ageneral pause ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was atan end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted,wiped his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavatedthe entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlargedthe limit, and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothingappeared. The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clam-bered from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprintedupon every feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to puton his coat, which he had thrown off at the beginning of his labor.In the mean time I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal from hismaster, began to gather up his tools. This done, and the dog havingbeen unmuzzled, we turned in profound silence towards home.

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when,with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him bythe collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to thefullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees.

"You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from be-tween his clenched teeth–"you infernal black villain!–speak, I tellyou!–answer me this instant, without prevarication!–which–whichis your left eye?"

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartain?"roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his right organof vision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if inimmediate dread of his master’s attempt at a gouge.

"I thought so!–I knew it! hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, letting thenegro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracols, much tothe astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked,mutely, from his master to myself, and then from myself to his mas-ter.

"Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game’s not up yet;"and he again led the way to the tulip-tree.

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"Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! was theskull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face tothe limb?"

"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyesgood, widout any trouble."

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you droppedthe beetle?"–here Legrand touched each of Jupiter’s eyes.

"Twas dis eye, massa–de lef eye–jis as you tell me," and here itwas his right eye that the negro indicated.

"That will do–must try it again."Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied

that I saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg whichmarked the spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches tothe westward of its former position. Taking, now, the tape measurefrom the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and con-tinuing the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet,a spot was indicated, removed, by several yards, from the point atwhich we had been digging.

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in theformer instance, was now described, and we again set to work withthe spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely understandingwhat had occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longerany great aversion from the labor imposed. I had become most un-accountably interested–nay, even excited. Perhaps there was some-thing, amid all the extravagant demeanor of Legrand–some air offorethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly,and now and then caught myself actually looking, with somethingthat very much resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, thevision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. At aperiod when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed me,and when we had been at work perhaps an hour and a half, wewere again interrupted by the violent howlings of the dog. His un-easiness, in the first instance, had been, evidently, but the result ofplayfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter and serioustone. Upon Jupiter’s again attempting to muzzle him, he made fu-rious resistance, and, leaping into the hole, tore up the mould fran-tically with his claws. In a few seconds he had uncovered a mass ofhuman bones, forming two complete skeletons, intermingled with

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several buttons of metal, and what appeared to be the dust of de-cayed woollen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned the bladeof a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four loosepieces of gold and silver coin came to light.

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained,but the countenance of his master wore an air of extreme disap-pointment He urged us, however, to continue our exertions, andthe words were hardly uttered when I stumbled and fell forward,having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay halfburied in the loose earth.

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes ofmore intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly un-earthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preserva-tion and wonderful hardness, had plainly been subjected to somemineralizing process–perhaps that of the Bi-chloride of Mercury.This box was three feet and a half long, three feet broad, and twoand a half feet deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wroughtiron, riveted, and forming a kind of open trelliswork over thewhole. On each side of the chest, near the top, were three ringsof iron–six in all–by means of which a firm hold could be obtainedby six persons. Our utmost united endeavors served only to disturbthe coffer very slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibilityof removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of thelid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back–tremblingand panting with anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of incalculablevalue lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell withinthe pit, there flashed upwards a glow and a glare, from a confusedheap of gold and of jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes.

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed.Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared ex-hausted with excitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter’scountenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it ispossible, in nature of things, for any negro’s visage to assume. Heseemed stupified–thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his kneesin the pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, letthem there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length,with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy,

"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole bug! de poor

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little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Aintyou shamed ob yourself, nigger?–answer me dat!"

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master andvalet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was growinglate, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we might get everything housed before daylight. It was difficult to say what should bedone, and much time was spent in deliberation–so confused werethe ideas of all. We, finally, lightened the box by removing twothirds of its contents, when we were enabled, with some trouble, toraise it from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited amongthe brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict ordersfrom Jupiter neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor toopen his mouth until our return. We then hurriedly made for homewith the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive toil, atone o’clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, it was not in hu-man nature to do more immediately. We rested until two, and hadsupper; starting for the hills immediately afterwards, armed withthree stout sacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises. Alittle before four we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of thebooty, as equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes un-filled, again set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, wedeposited our golden burthens, just as the first faint streaks of thedawn gleamed from over the tree-tops in the East.

We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense excite-ment of the time denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber ofsome three or four hours’ duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, tomake examination of our treasure.

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day,and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its contents.There had been nothing like order or arrangement. Every thinghad been heaped in promiscuously. Having assorted all with care,we found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth than we hadat first supposed. In coin there was rather more than four hun-dred and fifty thousand dollars–estimating the value of the pieces,as accurately as we could, by the tables of the period. There wasnot a particle of silver. All was gold of antique date and of greatvariety–French, Spanish, and German money, with a few Englishguineas, and some counters, of which we had never seen speci-mens before. There were several very large and heavy coins, so

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worn that we could make nothing of their inscriptions. There wasno American money. The value of the jewels we found more dif-ficulty in estimating. There were diamonds–some of them exceed-ingly large and fine–a hundred and ten in all, and not one of themsmall; eighteen rubies of remarkable brilliancy;–three hundred andten emeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, withan opal. These stones had all been broken from their settingsand thrown loose in the chest. The settings themselves, whichwe picked out from among the other gold, appeared to have beenbeaten up with hammers, as if to prevent identification. Besides allthis, there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments;–nearly twohundred massive finger and earrings;–rich chains–thirty of these,if I remember;–eighty-three very large and heavy crucifixes;–fivegold censers of great value;–a prodigious golden punch bowl, or-namented with richly chased vine-leaves and Bacchanalian figures;with two sword-handles exquisitely embossed, and many othersmaller articles which I cannot recollect. The weight of these valu-ables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois; andin this estimate I have not included one hundred and ninety-sevensuperb gold watches; three of the number being worth each fivehundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, and as timekeepers valueless; the works having suffered, more or less, fromcorrosion–but all were richly jewelled and in cases of great worth.We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a millionand a half of dollars; and upon the subsequent disposal of the trin-kets and jewels (a few being retained for our own use), it was foundthat we had greatly undervalued the treasure. When, at length, wehad concluded our examination, and the intense excitement of thetime had, in some measure, subsided, Legrand, who saw that I wasdying with impatience for a solution of this most extraordinary rid-dle, entered into a full detail of all the circumstances connected withit.

"You remember;" said he, "the night when I handed you therough sketch I had made of the scarabæus. You recollect also, that Ibecame quite vexed at you for insisting that my drawing resembleda death’s-head. When you first made this assertion I thought youwere jesting; but afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots onthe back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark hadsome little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers

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irritated me–for I am considered a good artist–and, therefore, whenyou handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple itup and throw it angrily into the fire."

"The scrap of paper, you mean," said I."No; it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first I sup-

posed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I discoveredit, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite dirty,you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it up,my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had been looking, andyou may imagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, thefigure of a death’s-head just where, it seemed to me, I had madethe drawing of the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazedto think with accuracy. I knew that my design was very differentin detail from this–although there was a certain similarity in gen-eral outline. Presently I took a candle, and seating myself at theother end of the room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment moreclosely. Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the re-verse, just as I had made it. My first idea, now, was mere surpriseat the really remarkable similarity of outline–at the singular coinci-dence involved in the fact, that unknown to me, there should havebeen a skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediatelybeneath my figure of the scarabæus, and that this skull, not onlyin outline, but in size, should so closely resemble my drawing. Isay the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupified me for atime. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind strug-gles to establish a connexion–a sequence of cause and effect–and,being unable to do so, suffers a species of temporary paralysis. But,when I recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me grad-ually a conviction which startled me even far more than the coin-cidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there hadbeen no drawing upon the parchment when I made my sketch ofthe scarabæus. I became perfectly certain of this; for I recollectedturning up first one side and then the other, in search of the clean-est spot. Had the skull been then there, of course I could not havefailed to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it im-possible to explain; but, even at that early moment, there seemedto glimmer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambersof my intellect, a glow-worm-like conception of that truth whichlast night’s adventure brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I

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arose at once, and putting the parchment securely away, dismissedall farther reflection until I should be alone.

"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betookmyself to a more methodical investigation of the affair. In the firstplace I considered the manner in which the parchment had comeinto my possession. The spot where we discovered the scarabaeuswas on the coast of the main land, about a mile eastward of theisland, and but a short distance above high water mark. Upon mytaking hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to letit drop. Jupiter, with his accustomed caution, before seizing theinsect, which had flown towards him, looked about him for a leaf,or something of that nature, by which to take hold of it. It was atthis moment that his eyes, and mine also, fell upon the scrap ofparchment, which I then supposed to be paper. It was lying halfburied in the sand, a corner sticking up. Near the spot where wefound it, I observed the remnants of the hull of what appeared tohave been a ship’s long boat. The wreck seemed to have been therefor a very great while; for the resemblance to boat timbers couldscarcely be traced.

"Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle init, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned to go home, andon the way met Lieutenant G-. I showed him the insect, and hebegged me to let him take it to the fort. Upon my consenting, hethrust it forthwith into his waistcoat pocket, without the parchmentin which it had been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold inmy hand during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my changingmy mind, and thought it best to make sure of the prize at once–youknow how enthusiastic he is on all subjects connected with NaturalHistory. At the same time, without being conscious of it, I musthave deposited the parchment in my own pocket.

"You remember that when I went to the table, for the purpose ofmaking a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper where it was usuallykept. I looked in the drawer, and found none there. I searched mypockets, hoping to find an old letter, when my hand fell upon theparchment. I thus detail the precise mode in which it came intomy possession; for the circumstances impressed me with peculiarforce.

"No doubt you will think me fanciful–but I had already estab-lished a kind of connexion. I had put together two links of a great

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chain. There was a boat lying upon a sea-coast, and not far fromthe boat was a parchment–not a paper–with a skull depicted uponit. You will, of course, ask ’where is the connexion?’ I reply that theskull, or death’s-head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. Theflag of the death’s head is hoisted in all engagements.

"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. Parch-ment is durable–almost imperishable. Matters of little moment arerarely consigned to parchment; since, for the mere ordinary pur-poses of drawing or writing, it is not nearly so well adapted aspaper. This reflection suggested some meaning–some relevancy–in the death’s-head. I did not fail to observe, also, the form of theparchment. Although one of its corners had been, by some acci-dent, destroyed, it could be seen that the original form was oblong.It was just such a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for amemorandum–for a record of something to be long rememberedand carefully preserved."

"But," I interposed, "you say that the skull was not upon theparchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How then doyou trace any connexion between the boat and the skull–since thislatter, according to your own admission, must have been designed(God only knows how or by whom) at some period subsequent toyour sketching the scarabæus?"

"Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the secret, atthis point, I had comparatively little difficulty in solving. My stepswere sure, and could afford but a single result. I reasoned, for ex-ample, thus: When I drew the scarabæus, there was no skull ap-parent upon the parchment. When I had completed the drawingI gave it to you, and observed you narrowly until you returned it.You, therefore, did not design the skull, and no one else was presentto do it. Then it was not done by human agency. And neverthelessit was done.

"At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, anddid remember, with entire distinctness, every incident which oc-curred about the period in question. The weather was chilly (ohrare and happy accident!), and a fire was blazing upon the hearth.I was heated with exercise and sat near the table. You, however,had drawn a chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parch-ment in your hand, and as you were in the act of inspecting it,

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Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon your shoul-ders. With your left hand you caressed him and kept him off, whileyour right, holding the parchment, was permitted to fall listlesslybetween your knees, and in close proximity to the fire. At one mo-ment I thought the blaze had caught it, and was about to cautionyou, but, before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were en-gaged in its examination. When I considered all these particulars, Idoubted not for a moment that heat had been the agent in bringingto light, upon the parchment, the skull which I saw designed uponit. You are well aware that chemical preparations exist, and haveexisted time out of mind, by means of which it is possible to writeupon either paper or vellum, so that the characters shall becomevisible only when subjected to the action of fire. Zaffre, digestedin aqua regia, and diluted with four times its weight of water, issometimes employed; a green tint results. The regulus of cobalt,dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These colors disappear atlonger or shorter intervals after the material written upon cools,but again become apparent upon the re-application of heat.

"I now scrutinized the death’s-head with care. Its outer edges–theedges of the drawing nearest the edge of the vellum–were far moredistinct than the others. It was clear that the action of the calorichad been imperfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, andsubjected every portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first,the only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in the skull;but, upon persevering in the experiment, there became visible, atthe corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot in which thedeath’s-head was delineated, the figure of what I at first supposedto be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it wasintended for a kid."

"Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh at you–amillion and a half of money is too serious a matter for mirth–butyou are not about to establish a third link in your chain–you willnot find any especial connexion between your pirates and a goat–pirates, you know, have nothing to do with goats; they appertain tothe farming interest."

"But I have just said that the figure was not that of a goat.""Well, a kid then–pretty much the same thing.""Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You may have

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heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked upon the figure of theanimal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical signature. I say sig-nature; because its position upon the vellum suggested this idea.The death’s-head at the corner diagonally opposite, had, in thesame manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was sorely put out bythe absence of all else–of the body to my imagined instrument–ofthe text for my context."

"I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp andthe signature."

"Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly impressedwith a presentiment of some vast good fortune impending. I canscarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was rather a desire than anactual belief;–but do you know that Jupiter’s silly words, about thebug being of solid gold, had a remarkable effect upon my fancy?And then the series of accidents and coincidences–these were sovery extraordinary. Do you observe how mere an accident it wasthat these events should have occurred upon the sole day of all theyear in which it has been, or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, andthat without the fire, or without the intervention of the dog at theprecise moment in which he appeared, I should never have becomeaware of the death’s-head, and so never the possessor of the trea-sure?"

"But proceed–I am all impatience."

"Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories current–thethousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, somewhereupon the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. These ru-mors must have had some foundation in fact. And that the ru-mors have existed so long and so continuous, could have resulted,it appeared to me, only from the circumstance of the buried trea-sure still remaining entombed. Had Kidd concealed his plunderfor a time, and afterwards reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcelyhave reached us in their present unvarying form. You will observethat the stories told are all about money-seekers, not about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his money, there the affair wouldhave dropped. It seemed to me that some accident–say the lossof a memorandum indicating its locality–had deprived him of themeans of recovering it, and that this accident had become known tohis followers, who otherwise might never have heard that treasure

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had been concealed at all, and who, busying themselves in vain,because unguided attempts, to regain it, had given first birth, andthen universal currency, to the reports which are now so common.Have you ever heard of any important treasure being unearthedalong the coast?"

"Never.""But that Kidd’s accumulations were immense, is well known. I

took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still held them; and youwill scarcely be surprised when I tell you that I felt a hope, nearlyamounting to certainty, that the parchment so strangely found, in-volved a lost record of the place of deposit."

"But how did you proceed?""I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat; but

nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that the coating of dirtmight have something to do with the failure; so I carefully rinsedthe parchment by pouring warm water over it, and, having donethis, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull downwards, and putthe pan upon a furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, thepan having become thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, tomy inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places, with whatappeared to be figures arranged in lines. Again I placed it in thepan, and suffered it to remain another minute. Upon taking it off,the whole was just as you see it now." Here Legrand, having re-heated the parchment, submitted it to my inspection. The followingcharacters were rudely traced, in a red tint, between the death’s-head and the goat:

"53æ305))6*;4826)4æ)4æ);806*;48æ8¶60))85;1æ);:æ*8æ83(88)5*æ;46(;88*96*?;8)*æ(;485);5*æ2:*æ(;4956*2(5*–4)8¶8*;4069285);)6æ8)4ææ;1(æ9;48081;8:8æ1;48æ85;4)485æ528806*81(æ9;48;(88;4(æ?34;48)4æ;161;: 188;æ?;"

"But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the dark asever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me upon my solu-tion of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should be unable to earnthem."

"And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so difficultas you might be lead to imagine from the first hasty inspection ofthe characters. These characters, as any one might readily guess,

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form a cipher–that is to say, they convey a meaning; but then, fromwhat is known of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable of con-structing any of the more abstruse cryptographs. I made up mymind, at once, that this was of a simple species–such, however, aswould appear, to the crude intellect of the sailor, absolutely insolu-ble without the key."

"And you really solved it?"

"Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thousandtimes greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have ledme to take interest in such riddles, and it may well be doubtedwhether human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kindwhich human ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve.In fact, having once established connected and legible characters, Iscarcely gave a thought to the mere difficulty of developing theirimport.

"In the present case–indeed in all cases of secret writing–the firstquestion regards the language of the cipher; for the principles of so-lution, so far, especially, as the more simple ciphers are concerned,depend upon, and are varied by, the genius of the particular idiom.In general, there is no alternative but experiment (directed by prob-abilities) of every tongue known to him who attempts the solution,until the true one be attained. But, with the cipher now before us,all difficulty was removed by the signature. The pun upon the word’Kidd’ is appreciable in no other language than the English. But forthis consideration I should have begun my attempts with the Span-ish and French, as the tongues in which a secret of this kind wouldmost naturally have been written by a pirate of the Spanish main.As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to be English.

"You observe there are no divisions between the words. Hadthere been divisions, the task would have been comparatively easy.In such case I should have commenced with a collation and analy-sis of the shorter words, and, had a word of a single letter occurred,as is most likely, (a or I, for example,) I should have considered thesolution as assured. But, there being no division, my first step wasto ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent.Counting all, I constructed a table, thus:

Of the character 8 there are 33.

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; 26 4 19

æ) 16 ∗ 13

5 12 6 11

æ1 8 0 6

9 2 5 :3 4

? 3 ¶ 2

-. 1

"Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is e.Afterwards, succession runs thus: a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m w b k pq x z. E predominates so remarkably that an individual sentence ofany length is rarely seen, in which it is not the prevailing character.

"Here, then, we leave, in the very beginning, the groundwork forsomething more than a mere guess. The general use which may bemade of the table is obvious–but, in this particular cipher, we shallonly very partially require its aid. As our predominant character is8, we will commence by assuming it as the e of the natural alphabet.To verify the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often incouples–for e is doubled with great frequency in English–in suchwords, for example, as ’meet,’ ’.fleet,’ ’speed,’ ’seen,’ been,’ ’agree,’&c In the present instance we see it doubled no less than five times,although the cryptograph is brief.

"Let us assume 8, then, as e. Now, of all words in the language,’the’ is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether there are not repe-titions of any three characters, in the same order of collocation, thelast of them being 8. If we discover repetitions of such letters, soarranged, they will most probably represent the word ’the.’ Uponinspection, we find no less than seven such arrangements, the char-acters being;48. We may, therefore, assume that; represents t, 4 rep-resents h, and 8 represents e–the last being now well confirmed.Thus a great step has been taken.

"But, having established a single word, we are enabled to estab-lish a vastly important point; that is to say, several commencementsand terminations of other words. Let us refer, for example, to the

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last instance but one, in which the combination;48 occurs–not farfrom the end of the cipher. We know that the; immediately ensuingis the commencement of a word, and, of the six characters succeed-ing this ’the,’ we are cognizant of no less than five. Let us set thesecharacters down, thus, by the letters we know them to represent,leaving a space for the unknown–

t eeth."Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the ’th,’ as forming no

portion of the word commencing with the first t; since, by experi-ment of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to the vacancy, weperceive that no word can be formed of which this th can be a part.We are thus narrowed into

t ee,and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we arrive

at the word ’tree,’ as the sole possible reading. We thus gain anotherletter, r, represented by (, with the words ’the tree’ in juxtaposition.

"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we again seethe combination;48, and employ it by way of termination to whatimmediately precedes. We have thus this arrangement:

the tree;4(æ?34 the,or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads thus:the tree thræ?3h the."Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank

spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus:the tree thr...h the,when the word ’through’ makes itself evident at once. But this

discovery gives us three new letters, o, u and g, represented by æ?and 3.

"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations ofknown characters, we find, not very far from the beginning, thisarrangement,

83(88, or egree,which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word ’degree,’ and gives

us another letter, d, represented by æ.

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"Four letters beyond the word ’degree,’ we perceive the combi-nation

;46(;88."Translating the known characters, and representing the un-

known by dots, as before, we read thus: th rtee. an arrangementimmediately suggestive of the word ’thirteen,’ and again furnish-ing us with two new characters, i and n, represented by 6 and *.

"Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find thecombination,

53æ."Translating, as before, we obtain ‘good,

which assures us that the first letter is A, and that the first twowords are ’A good.’

"It is now time that we arrange our key, as far as discovered, in atabular form, to avoid confusion. It will stand thus:

5 represents a

æ) " 16

8 " e

3 " g

4 " h

"We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most important lettersrepresented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with the detailsof the solution. I have said enough to convince you that ciphers ofthis nature are readily soluble, and to give you some insight into therationale of their development. But be assured that the specimenbefore us appertains to the very simplest species of cryptograph. Itnow only remains to give you the full translation of the charactersupon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:

"’A good glass in the bishop’s hostel in the devil’s seat forty-one degreesand thirteen minutes northeast and by north main branch seventh limb

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east side shoot from the left eye of the death’s-head a bee line from the treethrough the shot fifty feet out.’"

"But," said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a condition as ever.How is it possible to extort a meaning from all this jargon about’devil’s seats,’ ’death’s heads,’ and ’bishop’s hotels?’"

"I confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter still wears a seri-ous aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My first endeavorwas to divide the sentence into the natural division intended by thecryptographist."

"You mean, to punctuate it?""Something of that kind.""But how was it possible to effect this?""I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to run his

words together without division, so as to increase the difficulty ofsolution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing such an objectwould be nearly certain to overdo the matter. When, in the courseof his composition, he arrived at a break in his subject which wouldnaturally require a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly aptto run his characters, at this place, more than usually close together.If you will observe the MS., in the present instance, you will easilydetect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting upon this hint,I made the division thus: ’A good glass in the Bishop’s hostel in theDevil’s seat–forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes–northeast andby north–main branch seventh limb east side–shoot from the lefteye of the death’s-head–a bee-line from the tree through the shotfifty feet out.’"

"Even this division," said I, "leaves me still in the dark.""It left me also in the dark," replied Legrand, "for a few days; dur-

ing which I made diligent inquiry, in the neighborhood of Sullivan’sIsland, for any building which went by the name of the ’Bishop’sHotel;’ for, of course, I dropped the obsolete word ’hostel.’ Gain-ing no information on the subject, I was on the point of extendingmy sphere of search, and proceeding in a more systematic manner,when, one morning, it entered into my head, quite suddenly, thatthis ’Bishop’s Hostel’ might have some reference to an old family, ofthe name of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held possessionof an ancient manor-house, about four miles to the northward of the

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Island. I accordingly went over to the plantation, and re-institutedmy inquiries among the older negroes of the place. At length oneof the most aged of the women said that she had heard of such aplace as Bessop’s Castle, and thought that she could guide me to it,but that it was not a castle nor a tavern, but a high rock.

"I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some demur,she consented to accompany me to the spot. We found it withoutmuch difficulty, when, dismissing her, I proceeded to examine theplace. The ’castle’ consisted of an irregular assemblage of cliffs androcks–one of the latter being quite remarkable for its height as wellas for its insulated and artificial appearance I clambered to its apex,and then felt much at a loss as to what should be next done.

"While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a narrowledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the sum-mit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about eighteen inches,and was not more than a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff justabove it, gave it a rude resemblance to one of the hollow-backedchairs used by our ancestors. I made no doubt that here was the’devil’s seat’ alluded to in the MS., and now I seemed to grasp thefull secret of the riddle.

"The ’good glass,’ I knew, could have reference to nothing but atelescope; for the word ’glass’ is rarely employed in any other senseby seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be used, anda definite point of view, admitting no variation, from which to useit. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrases, "forty-one degreesand thirteen minutes,’ and ’northeast and by north,’ were intendedas directions for the levelling of the glass. Greatly excited by thesediscoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned tothe rock.

"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossibleto retain a seat upon it except in one particular position. This factconfirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Ofcourse, the ’forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes’ could alludeto nothing but elevation above the visible horizon, since the hori-zontal direction was clearly indicated by the words, ’northeast andby north.’ This latter direction I at once established by means of apocket-compass; then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle offorty-one degrees of elevation as I could do it by guess, I moved it

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cautiously up or down, until my attention was arrested by a circu-lar rift or opening in the foliage of a large tree that overtopped itsfellows in the distance. In the centre of this rift I perceived a whitespot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was. Adjusting thefocus of the telescope, I again looked, and now made it out to be ahuman skull.

"Upon this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the enigmasolved; for the phrase ’main branch, seventh limb, east side,’ couldrefer only to the position of the skull upon the tree, while ’shootfrom the left eye of the death’s head’ admitted, also, of but oneinterpretation, in regard to a search for buried treasure. I perceivedthat the design was to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull,and that a bee-line, or, in other words, a straight line, drawn fromthe nearest point of the trunk through ’the shot,’ (or the spot wherethe bullet fell,) and thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, wouldindicate a definite point–and beneath this point I thought it at leastpossible that a deposit of value lay concealed."

"All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although ingenious,still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop’s Hotel, whatthen?"

"Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I turnedhomewards. The instant that I left ’the devil’s seat,’ however, thecircular rift vanished; nor could I get a glimpse of it afterwards,turn as I would. What seems to me the chief ingenuity in thiswhole business, is the fact (for repeated experiment has convincedme it is a fact) that the circular opening in question is visible fromno other attainable point of view than that afforded by the narrowledge upon the face of the rock.

"In this expedition to the ’Bishop’s Hotel’ I had been attendedby Jupiter, who had, no doubt, observed, for some weeks past, theabstraction of my demeanor, and took especial care not to leave mealone. But, on the next day, getting up very early, I contrived togive him the slip, and went into the hills in search of the tree. Aftermuch toil I found it. When I came home at night my valet proposedto give me a flogging. With the rest of the adventure I believe youare as well acquainted as myself."

"I suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, in the first attempt atdigging, through Jupiter’s stupidity in letting the bug fall through

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the right instead of through the left eye of the skull.""Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two inches

and a half in the ’shot’–that is to say, in the position of the peg near-est the tree; and had the treasure been beneath the ’shot,’ the errorwould have been of little moment; but ’the shot,’ together with thenearest point of the tree, were merely two points for the establish-ment of a line of direction; of course the error, however trivial inthe beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line, and by thetime we had gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent. But formy deep-seated impressions that treasure was here somewhere ac-tually buried, we might have had all our labor in vain."

"But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging thebeetle–how excessively odd! I was sure you were mad. And whydid you insist upon letting fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from theskull?"

"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident sus-picions touching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you quietly,in my own way, by a little bit of sober mystification. For this reasonI swung the beetle, and for this reason I let it fall it from the tree.An observation of yours about its great weight suggested the latteridea."

"Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which puzzlesme. What are we to make of the skeletons found in the hole?"

"That is a question I am no more able to answer than yourself.There seems, however, only one plausible way of accounting forthem–and yet it is dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my sug-gestion would imply. It is clear that Kidd–if Kidd indeed secretedthis treasure, which I doubt not–it is clear that he must have had as-sistance in the labor. But this labor concluded, he may have thoughtit expedient to remove all participants in his secret. Perhaps a cou-ple of blows with a mattock were sufficient, while his coadjutorswere busy in the pit; perhaps it required a dozen–who shall tell?"

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THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD

Chacun a ses vertus.–Crebillon’s Xerxes.

Antiochus Epiphanes is very generally looked upon as the Godof the prophet Ezekiel. This honor is, however, more properly at-tributable to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, indeed, the charac-ter of the Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of anyadventitious embellishment. His accession to the throne, or ratherhis usurpation of the sovereignty, a hundred and seventy-one yearsbefore the coming of Christ; his attempt to plunder the temple ofDiana at Ephesus; his implacable hostility to the Jews; his pollu-tion of the Holy of Holies; and his miserable death at Taba, aftera tumultuous reign of eleven years, are circumstances of a promi-nent kind, and therefore more generally noticed by the historiansof his time than the impious, dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsicalachievements which make up the sum total of his private life andreputation.

Let us suppose, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the worldthree thousand eight hundred and thirty, and let us, for a few min-utes, imagine ourselves at that most grotesque habitation of man,the remarkable city of Antioch. To be sure there were, in Syria andother countries, sixteen cities of that appellation, besides the oneto which I more particularly allude. But ours is that which wentby the name of Antiochia Epidaphne, from its vicinity to the little

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village of Daphne, where stood a temple to that divinity. It wasbuilt (although about this matter there is some dispute) by Seleu-cus Nicanor, the first king of the country after Alexander the Great,in memory of his father Antiochus, and became immediately theresidence of the Syrian monarchy. In the flourishing times of theRoman Empire, it was the ordinary station of the prefect of the east-ern provinces; and many of the emperors of the queen city (amongwhom may be mentioned, especially, Verus and Valens) spent herethe greater part of their time. But I perceive we have arrived at thecity itself. Let us ascend this battlement, and throw our eyes uponthe town and neighboring country.

"What broad and rapid river is that which forces its way, with in-numerable falls, through the mountainous wilderness, and finallythrough the wilderness of buildings?"

That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in sight, with the ex-ception of the Mediterranean, which stretches, like a broad mirror,about twelve miles off to the southward. Every one has seen theMediterranean; but let me tell you, there are few who have hada peep at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and me,have had, at the same time, the advantages of a modern educa-tion. Therefore cease to regard that sea, and give your whole atten-tion to the mass of houses that lie beneath us. You will rememberthat it is now the year of the world three thousand eight hundredand thirty. Were it later–for example, were it the year of our Lordeighteen hundred and forty-five, we should be deprived of this ex-traordinary spectacle. In the nineteenth century Antioch is–that isto say, Antioch will be–in a lamentable state of decay. It will havebeen, by that time, totally destroyed, at three different periods, bythree successive earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what littleof its former self may then remain, will be found in so desolate andruinous a state that the patriarch shall have removed his residenceto Damascus. This is well. I see you profit by my advice, and aremaking the most of your time in inspecting the premises–in satisfy-ing your eyes With the memorials and the things of fame that mostrenown this city.–

I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourishfor seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not theappearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque?

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"It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted tonature as to art."

Very true.

"There are a prodigious number of stately palaces."

There are.

"And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, maybear comparison with the most lauded of antiquity."

All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud huts,and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance offilth in every kennel, and, were it not for the over-powering fumesof idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a most intol-erable stench. Did you ever behold streets so insufferably narrow,or houses so miraculously tall? What gloom their shadows castupon the ground! It is well the swinging lamps in those endlesscolonnades are kept burning throughout the day; we should other-wise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her desolation.

"It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yondersingular building? See! it towers above all others, and lies to theeastward of what I take to be the royal palace."

That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria un-der the title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious RomanEmperor will institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive acognomen, Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a peepat the divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the heavens;his Sunship is not there–at least not the Sunship adored by the Syri-ans. That deity will be found in the interior of yonder building. Heis worshipped under the figure of a large stone pillar terminatingat the summit in a cone or pyramid, whereby is denoted Fire.

"Hark–behold!–who can those ridiculous beings be, half naked,with their faces painted, shouting and gesticulating to the rabble?"

Some few are mountebanks. Others more particularly belongto the race of philosophers. The greatest portion, however–thoseespecially who belabor the populace with clubs–are the principalcourtiers of the palace, executing as in duty bound, some laudablecomicality of the king’s.

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"But what have we here? Heavens! the town is swarming withwild beasts! How terrible a spectacle!–how dangerous a peculiar-ity!"

Terrible, if you please; but not in the least degree dangerous.Each animal if you will take the pains to observe, is following, veryquietly, in the wake of its master. Some few, to be sure, are ledwith a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly the lesser or timidspecies. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are entirely without re-straint. They have been trained without difficulty to their presentprofession, and attend upon their respective owners in the capacityof valets-de-chambre. It is true, there are occasions when Natureasserts her violated dominions;–but then the devouring of a man-at-arms, or the throttling of a consecrated bull, is a circumstance oftoo little moment to be more than hinted at in Epidaphne.

"But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loudnoise even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual in-terest."

Yes–undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle–some gladiatorial exhibition at the hippodrome–or perhaps themassacre of the Scythian prisoners–or the conflagration of his newpalace–or the tearing down of a handsome temple–or, indeed, abonfire of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter as-cend the skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind instruments,and horrible with clamor of a million throats. Let us descend, forthe love of fun, and see what is going on! This way–be careful!Here we are in the principal street, which is called the street ofTimarchus. The sea of people is coming this way, and we shall finda difficulty in stemming the tide. They are pouring through the al-ley of Heraclides, which leads directly from the palace;–thereforethe king is most probably among the rioters. Yes;–I hear the shoutsof the herald proclaiming his approach in the pompous phrase-ology of the East. We shall have a glimpse of his person as hepasses by the temple of Ashimah. Let us ensconce ourselves in thevestibule of the sanctuary; he will be here anon. In the meantimelet us survey this image. What is it? Oh! it is the god Ashimah inproper person. You perceive, however, that he is neither a lamb,nor a goat, nor a satyr, neither has he much resemblance to the Panof the Arcadians. Yet all these appearances have been given–I begpardon–will be given–by the learned of future ages, to the Ashimah

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of the Syrians. Put on your spectacles, and tell me what it is. Whatis it?

"Bless me! it is an ape!"True–a baboon; but by no means the less a deity. His name is

a derivation of the Greek Simia–what great fools are antiquarians!But see!–see!–yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is hegoing? What is he bawling about? What does he say? Oh! hesays the king is coming in triumph; that he is dressed in state; thathe has just finished putting to death, with his own hand, a thou-sand chained Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the ragamuffinis lauding him to the skies. Hark! here comes a troop of a similardescription. They have made a Latin hymn upon the valor of theking, and are singing it as they go:

Mille, mille, mille,Mille, mille, mille,Decollavimus, unus homo!Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!Mille, mille, mille,Vivat qui mille mille occidit!Tantum vini habet nemoQuantum sanguinis effudit!4

Which may be thus paraphrased:

A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,We, with one warrior, have slain!A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand.Sing a thousand over again!Soho!–let us singLong life to our king,

4Flavius Vospicus says, that the hymn here introduced was sung by therabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic war, having slain, withhis own hand, nine hundred and fifty of the enemy.

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Who knocked over a thousand so fine!Soho!–let us roar,He has given us moreRed gallons of goreThan all Syria can furnish of wine!"Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?"

Yes: the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with admira-tion, and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence. He comes;–he is coming;–there he is!

"Who?–where?–the king?–do not behold him–cannot say that Iperceive him."

Then you must be blind."Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of id-

iots and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before agigantic cameleopard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the ani-mal’s hoofs. See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the rabbleover–and another–and another–and another. Indeed, I cannot helpadmiring the animal for the excellent use he is making of his feet."

Rabble, indeed!–why these are the noble and free citizens of Ep-idaphne! Beasts, did you say?–take care that you are not over-heard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of aman? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than Anti-ochus Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria, and themost potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true, that he is en-titled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes–Antiochus the madman–butthat is because all people have not the capacity to appreciate hismerits. It is also certain that he is at present ensconced in the hideof a beast, and is doing his best to play the part of a cameleopard;but this is done for the better sustaining his dignity as king. Besides,the monarch is of gigantic stature, and the dress is therefore neitherunbecoming nor over large. We may, however, presume he wouldnot have adopted it but for some occasion of especial state. Such,you will allow, is the massacre of a thousand Jews. With how supe-rior a dignity the monarch perambulates on all fours! His tail, youperceive, is held aloft by his two principal concubines, Elline andArgelais; and his whole appearance would be infinitely prepossess-ing, were it not for the protuberance of his eyes, which will certainly

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start out of his head, and the queer color of his face, which has be-come nondescript from the quantity of wine he has swallowed. Letus follow him to the hippodrome, whither he is proceeding, andlisten to the song of triumph which he is commencing:

Who is king but Epiphanes?Say–do you know?Who is king but Epiphanes?Bravo!–bravo!There is none but Epiphanes,No–there is none:So tear down the temples,And put out the sun!Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him ’Prince

of Poets,’ as well as ’Glory of the East,’ ’Delight of the Universe,’and ’Most Remarkable of Cameleopards.’ They have encored hiseffusion, and do you hear?–he is singing it over again. When he ar-rives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with the poetic wreath,in anticipation of his victory at the approaching Olympics.

"But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?"Behind us, did you say?–oh! ah!–I perceive. My friend, it is

well that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety assoon as possible. Here!–let us conceal ourselves in the arch of thisaqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the com-motion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The sin-gular appearance of the cameleopard and the head of a man, has,it seems, given offence to the notions of propriety entertained, ingeneral, by the wild animals domesticated in the city. A mutinyhas been the result; and, as is usual upon such occasions, all humanefforts will be of no avail in quelling the mob. Several of the Syri-ans have already been devoured; but the general voice of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating up the cameleopard. ’ThePrince of Poets,’ therefore, is upon his hinder legs, running for hislife. His courtiers have left him in the lurch, and his concubineshave followed so excellent an example. ’Delight of the Universe,’thou art in a sad predicament! ’Glory of the East,’ thou art in dan-ger of mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail; it

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will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is nohelp. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degradation;but take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the hippo-drome! Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochusthe Illustrious!–also ’Prince of Poets,’ ’Glory of the East,’ ’Delight ofthe Universe,’ and ’Most Remarkable of Cameleopards!’ Heavens!what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a capacity forleg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince!–Bravo, Epiphanes! Welldone, Cameleopard!–Glorious Antiochus!–He runs!–he leaps!–heflies! Like an arrow from a catapult he approaches the hippo-drome! He leaps!–he shrieks!–he is there! This is well; for hadstthou, ’Glory of the East,’ been half a second longer in reaching thegates of the Amphitheatre, there is not a bear’s cub in Epidaphnethat would not have had a nibble at thy carcase. Let us be off–letus take our departure!–for we shall find our delicate modern earsunable to endure the vast uproar which is about to commence incelebration of the king’s escape! Listen! it has already commenced.See!–the whole town is topsy-turvy.

"Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a wilder-ness of people! what a jumble of all ranks and ages! what a mul-tiplicity of sects and nations! what a variety of costumes! what aBabel of languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a tinkling ofinstruments! what a parcel of philosophers!"

Come let us be off."Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is

the meaning of it, I beseech you?"That?–oh, nothing! The noble and free citizens of Epidaphne be-

ing, as they declare, well satisfied of the faith, valor, wisdom, anddivinity of their king, and having, moreover, been eye-witnesses ofhis late superhuman agility, do think it no more than their duty toinvest his brows (in addition to the poetic crown) with the wreathof victory in the footrace–a wreath which it is evident he must ob-tain at the celebration of the next Olympiad, and which, therefore,they now give him in advance.

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THE MURDERS IN THE RUE

MORGUE

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles as-sumed when he hid himself among women, althoughpuzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.–Sir Thomas Browne.

The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in them-selves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only intheir effects. We know of them, among other things, that they arealways to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source ofthe liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physicalability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action,so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. Hederives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringinghis talent into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hi-eroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumenwhich appears to the ordinary apprehension præternatural. His re-sults, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have,in truth, the whole air of intuition.

The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invigorated by math-ematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it which,unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, hasbeen called, as if par excellence, analysis. Yet to calculate is not initself to analyse. A chess-player, for example, does the one withouteffort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, in its effects

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upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not nowwriting a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar nar-rative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore, takeoccasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective intellectare more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the unostentatiousgame of draughts than by a the elaborate frivolity of chess. In thislatter, where the pieces have different and bizarre motions, with var-ious and variable values, what is only complex is mistaken (a notunusual error) for what is profound. The attention is here calledpowerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is com-mitted resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves being notonly manifold but involute, the chances of such oversights are mul-tiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it is the more concentrativerather than the more acute player who conquers. In draughts, onthe contrary, where the moves are unique and have but little varia-tion, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished, and the mereattention being left comparatively unemployed, what advantagesare obtained by either party are obtained by superior acumen. To beless abstract–Let us suppose a game of draughts where the piecesare reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no oversight is tobe expected. It is obvious that here the victory can be decided (theplayers being at all equal) only by some recherché movement, theresult of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived of ordinaryresources, the analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent,identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees thus, at aglance, the sole methods (sometime indeed absurdly simple ones)by which he may seduce into error or hurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been noted for its influence upon what is termedthe calculating power; and men of the highest order of intellecthave been known to take an apparently unaccountable delight in it,while eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothingof a similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. Thebest chess-player in Christendom may be little more than the bestplayer of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for suc-cess in all those more important undertakings where mind strug-gles with mind. When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection inthe game which includes a comprehension of all the sources whencelegitimate advantage may be derived. These are not only manifoldbut multiform, and lie frequently among recesses of thought alto-

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gether inaccessible to the ordinary understanding. To observe at-tentively is to remember distinctly; and, so far, the concentrativechess-player will do very well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle(themselves based upon the mere mechanism of the game) are suf-ficiently and generally comprehensible. Thus to have a retentivememory, and to proceed by "the book," are points commonly re-garded as the sum total of good playing. But it is in matters beyondthe limits of mere rule that the skill of the analyst is evinced. Hemakes, in silence, a host of observations and inferences. So, per-haps, do his companions; and the difference in the extent of theinformation obtained, lies not so much in the validity of the in-ference as in the quality of the observation. The necessary knowl-edge is that of what to observe. Our player confines himself not atall; nor, because the game is the object, does he reject deductionsfrom things external to the game. He examines the countenance ofhis partner, comparing it carefully with that of each of his oppo-nents. He considers the mode of assorting the cards in each hand;often counting trump by trump, and honor by honor, through theglances bestowed by their holders upon each. He notes every vari-ation of face as the play progresses, gathering a fund of thoughtfrom the differences in the expression of certainty, of surprise, oftriumph, or of chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick hejudges whether the person taking it can make another in the suit.He recognises what is played through feint, by the air with whichit is thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvertent word; the acci-dental dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying anxi-ety or carelessness in regard to its concealment; the counting of thetricks, with the order of their arrangement; embarrassment, hesita-tion, eagerness or trepidation–all afford, to his apparently intuitiveperception, indications of the true state of affairs. The first two orthree rounds having been played, he is in full possession of the con-tents of each hand, and thenceforward puts down his cards with asabsolute a precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had turnedoutward the faces of their own.

The analytical power should not be confounded with ample inge-nuity; for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingeniousman is often remarkably incapable of analysis. The constructive orcombining power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, andto which the phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a

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separate organ, supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so fre-quently seen in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon id-iocy, as to have attracted general observation among writers onmorals. Between ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists adifference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and theimagination, but of a character very strictly analogous. It will befound, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the trulyimaginative never otherwise than analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhatin the light of a commentary upon the propositions just advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of18–, I there became acquainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin.This young gentleman was of an excellent–indeed of an illustriousfamily, but, by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced tosuch poverty that the energy of his character succumbed beneathit, and he ceased to bestir himself in the world, or to care for theretrieval of his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still re-mained in his possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and,upon the income arising from this, he managed, by means of a rig-orous economy, to procure the necessaries of life, without troublinghimself about its superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxu-ries, and in Paris these are easily obtained.

Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Mont-martre, where the accident of our both being in search of the samevery rare and very remarkable volume, brought us into closer com-munion. We saw each other again and again. I was deeply inter-ested in the little family history which he detailed to me with allthat candor which a Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is histheme. I was astonished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and,above all, I felt my soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor,and the vivid freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the ob-jects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a man would be tome a treasure beyond price; and this feeling I frankly confided tohim. It was at length arranged that we should live together duringmy stay in the city; and as my worldly circumstances were some-what less embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to be at theexpense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the ratherfantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesquemansion, long deserted through superstitions into which we did

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not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a retired and desolate portionof the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world,we should have been regarded as madmen–although, perhaps, asmadmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We ad-mitted no visitors. Indeed the locality of our retirement had beencarefully kept a secret from my own former associates; and it hadbeen many years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known inParis. We existed within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) tobe enamored of the Night for her own sake; and into this bizarrerie,as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his wildwhims with a perfect abandon. The sable divinity would not herselfdwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her presence. Atthe first dawn of the morning we closed all the messy shutters ofour old building; lighting a couple of tapers which, strongly per-fumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By theaid of these we then busied our souls in dreams–reading, writing,or conversing, until warned by the clock of the advent of the trueDarkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets arm in arm, con-tinuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide until a latehour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the populouscity, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet observation canafford.

At such times I could not help remarking and admiring (althoughfrom his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar an-alytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight inits exercise–if not exactly in its display–and did not hesitate to con-fess the pleasure thus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuck-ling laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore windows intheir bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by directand very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. Hismanner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were va-cant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose into atreble which would have sounded petulantly but for the deliberate-ness and entire distinctness of the enunciation. Observing him inthese moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old philosophyof the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a doubleDupin–the creative and the resolvent.

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Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that I amdetailing any mystery, or penning any romance. What I have de-scribed in the Frenchman, was merely the result of an excited, orperhaps of a diseased intelligence. But of the character of his re-marks at the periods in question an example will best convey theidea.

We were strolling one night down a long dirty street in the vicin-ity of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently, occupied withthought, neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes atleast. All at once Dupin broke forth with these words:

"He is a very little fellow, that’s true, and would do better for theThéâtre des Variétés."

"There can be no doubt of that," I replied unwittingly, and notat first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) theextraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with mymeditations. In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and myastonishment was profound.

"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my comprehension. I donot hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit mysenses. How was it possible you should know I was thinking of—–?" Here I paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he reallyknew of whom I thought.

–"of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You were remarkingto yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."

This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections.Chantilly was a Vuondam cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, be-coming stage-mad, had attempted the rôle of Xerxes, in Crébillon’stragedy so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.

"Tell me, for Heaven’s sake," I exclaimed, "the method–if methodthere is–by which you have been enabled to fathom my soul in thismatter." In fact I was even more startled than I would have beenwilling to express.

"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who brought you to theconclusion that the mender of soles was not of sufficient height forXerxes et id genus omne."

"The fruiterer!–you astonish me–I know no fruiterer whomso-ever."

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"The man who ran up against you as we entered the street–it mayhave been fifteen minutes ago."

I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon hishead a large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down, by acci-dent, as we passed from the Rue C —- into the thoroughfare wherewe stood; but what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possi-bly understand.

There was not a particle of charlâtanerie about Dupin. "I will ex-plain," he said, "and that you may comprehend all clearly, we willfirst retrace the course of your meditations, from the moment inwhich I spoke to you until that of the rencontre with the fruiterer inquestion. The larger links of the chain run thus–Chantilly, Orion,Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer."

There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives,amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular con-clusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupationis often full of interest and he who attempts it for the first time isastonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherencebetween the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must havebeen my amazement when I heard the Frenchman speak what hehad just spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that hehad spoken the truth. He continued:

"We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright, just beforeleaving the Rue C —-. This was the last subject we discussed. Aswe crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon hishead, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of pavingstones collected at a spot where the causeway is undergoing re-pair. You stepped upon one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightlystrained your ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a fewwords, turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence.I was not particularly attentive to what you did; but observationhas become with me, of late, a species of necessity.

"You kept your eyes upon the ground–glancing, with a petulantexpression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement, (so that I saw youwere still thinking of the stones,) until we reached the little alleycalled Lamartine, which has been paved, by way of experiment,with the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your countenancebrightened up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt

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that you murmured the word ’stereotomy,’ a term very affectedlyapplied to this species of pavement. I knew that you could not sayto yourself ’stereotomy’ without being brought to think of atomies,and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and since, when we discussedthis subject not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly,yet with how little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greekhad met with confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt thatyou could not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebulain Orion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. You didlook up; and I was now assured that I had correctly followed yoursteps. But in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared inyesterday’s ’Musée,’ the satirist, making some disgraceful allusionsto the cobbler’s change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoteda Latin line about which we have often conversed. I mean the line

Perdidit antiquum litera sonum.

"I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly writ-ten Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with this expla-nation, I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It wasclear, therefore, that you would not fail to combine the two ideasof Orion and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by thecharacter of the smile which passed over your lips. You thoughtof the poor cobbler’s immolation. So far, you had been stooping inyour gait; but now I saw you draw yourself up to your full height.I was then sure that you reflected upon the diminutive figure ofChantilly. At this point I interrupted your meditations to remarkthat as, in fact, he was a very little fellow–that Chantilly–he woulddo better at the Théâtre des Variétés."

Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition ofthe "Gazette des Tribunaux," when the following paragraphs ar-rested our attention.

"EXTRAORDINARY MURDERS.–This morning, about three o’clock, the inhabitants of theQuartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a suc-cession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from thefourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be

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in the sole occupancy of one Madame L’Espanaye, andher daughter Mademoiselle Camille L’Espanaye. Aftersome delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to procureadmission in the usual manner, the gateway was bro-ken in with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighborsentered accompanied by two gendarmes. By this timethe cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up thefirst flight of stairs, two or more rough voices in angrycontention were distinguished and seemed to proceedfrom the upper part of the house. As the second landingwas reached, these sounds, also, had ceased and every-thing remained perfectly quiet. The party spread them-selves and hurried from room to room. Upon arrivingat a large back chamber in the fourth story, (the doorof which, being found locked, with the key inside, wasforced open,) a spectacle presented itself which struckevery one present not less with horror than with aston-ishment."The apartment was in the wildest disorder–the furni-ture broken and thrown about in all directions. Therewas only one bedstead; and from this the bed had beenremoved, and thrown into the middle of the floor. On achair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearthwere two or three long and thick tresses of grey humanhair, also dabbled in blood, and seeming to have beenpulled out by the roots. Upon the floor were foundfour Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three large silverspoons, three smaller of métal d’Alger, and two bags,containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. Thedrawers of a bureau, which stood in one corner wereopen, and had been, apparently, rifled, although manyarticles still remained in them. A small iron safe wasdiscovered under the bed (not under the bedstead). Itwas open, with the key still in the door. It had no con-tents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of littleconsequence."Of Madame L’Espanaye no traces were here seen; butan unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible

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to relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head downward,was dragged therefrom; it having been thus forced upthe narrow aperture for a considerable distance. Thebody was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excori-ations were perceived, no doubt occasioned by the vio-lence with which it had been thrust up and disengaged.Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, uponthe throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of fingernails, as if the deceased had been throttled to death."After a thorough investigation of every portion of thehouse, without farther discovery, the party made itsway into a small paved yard in the rear of the building,where lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat soentirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise her, the headfell off. The body, as well as the head, was fearfullymutilated–the former so much so as scarcely to retainany semblance of humanity."To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe,the slightest clew."

The next day’s paper had these additional particulars.

"The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. Many individualshave been examined in relation to this most extraordi-nary and frightful affair. [The word ’affaire’ has notyet, in France, that levity of import which it conveyswith us,] "but nothing whatever has transpired to throwlight upon it. We give below all the material testimonyelicited."Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she hasknown both the deceased for three years, havingwashed for them during that period. The old lady andher daughter seemed on good terms–very affectionatetowards each other. They were excellent pay. Could notspeak in regard to their mode or means of living. Be-lieved that Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Wasreputed to have money put by. Never met any per-sons in the house when she called for the clothes or took

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them home. Was sure that they had no servant in em-ploy. There appeared to be no furniture in any part ofthe building except in the fourth story."Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been inthe habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuffto Madame L’Espanaye for nearly four years. Was bornin the neighborhood, and has always resided there. Thedeceased and her daughter had occupied the house inwhich the corpses were found, for more than six years.It was formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-letthe upper rooms to various persons. The house was theproperty of Madame L. She became dissatisfied with theabuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved intothem herself, refusing to let any portion. The old ladywas childish. Witness had seen the daughter some fiveor six times during the six years. The two lived an ex-ceedingly retired life–were reputed to have money. Hadheard it said among the neighbors that Madame L. toldfortunes–did not believe it. Had never seen any personenter the door except the old lady and her daughter, aporter once or twice, and a physician some eight or tentimes."Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to thesame effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting thehouse. It was not known whether there were any livingconnexions of Madame L. and her daughter. The shut-ters of the front windows were seldom opened. Thosein the rear were always closed, with the exception of thelarge back room, fourth story. The house was a goodhouse–not very old." Isidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was calledto the house about three o’clock in the morning, andfound some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway, en-deavoring to gain admittance. Forced it open, at length,with a bayonet–not with a crowbar. Had but little diffi-culty in getting it open, on account of its being a dou-ble or folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom nottop. The shrieks were continued until the gate wasforced–and then suddenly ceased. They seemed to be

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screams of some person (or persons) in great agony–were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Wit-ness led the way up stairs. Upon reaching the first land-ing, heard two voices in loud and angry contention–theone a gruff voice, the other much shriller–a very strangevoice. Could distinguish some words of the former,which was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that itwas not a woman’s voice. Could distinguish the words’sacré’ and ’diable.’ The shrill voice was that of a for-eigner. Could not be sure whether it was the voice of aman or of a woman. Could not make out what was said,but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of theroom and of the bodies was described by this witness aswe described them yesterday."Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a silver-smith,deposes that he was one of the party who first enteredthe house. Corroborates the testimony of Musèt in gen-eral. As soon as they forced an entrance, they reclosedthe door, to keep out the crowd, which collected veryfast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrillvoice, this witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Wascertain it was not French. Could not be sure that it wasa man’s voice. It might have been a woman’s. Was notacquainted with the Italian language. Could not distin-guish the words, but was convinced by the intonationthat the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L. andher daughter. Had conversed with both frequently. Wassure that the shrill voice was not that of either of thedeceased."–Odenheimer, restaurateur. This witness volunteeredhis testimony. Not speaking French, was examinedthrough an interpreter. Is a native of Amsterdam. Waspassing the house at the time of the shrieks. They lastedfor several minutes–probably ten. They were long andloud–very awful and distressing. Was one of those whoentered the building. Corroborated the previous evi-dence in every respect but one. Was sure that the shrillvoice was that of a man–of a Frenchman. Could not dis-tinguish the words uttered. They were loud and quick–

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unequal–spoken apparently in fear as well as in anger.The voice was harsh–not so much shrill as harsh. Couldnot call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly’sacré,’ ’diable,’ and once ’mon Dieu.’

" Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud etFils, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. MadameL’Espanaye had some property. Had opened an accountwith his banking house in the spring of the year–(eightyears previously). Made frequent deposits in smallsums. Had checked for nothing until the third day be-fore her death, when she took out in person the sum of4000 francs. This sum was paid in gold, and a clerk wenthome with the money.

"Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposesthat on the day in question, about noon, he accom-panied Madame L’Espanaye to her residence with the4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door beingopened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took from hishands one of the bags, while the old lady relieved himof the other. He then bowed and departed. Did not seeany person in the street at the time. It is a bye-street–very lonely.

"William Bird, tailor deposes that he was one of theparty who entered the house. Is an Englishman. Haslived in Paris two years. Was one of the first to ascendthe stairs. Heard the voices in contention. The gruffvoice was that of a Frenchman. Could make out severalwords, but cannot now remember all. Heard distinctly’sacré’ and ’mon Dieu.’ There was a sound at the mo-ment as if of several persons struggling–a scraping andscuffling sound. The shrill voice was very loud–louderthan the gruff one. Is sure that it was not the voice of anEnglishman. Appeared to be that of a German. Mighthave been a woman’s voice. Does not understand Ger-man.

"Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, de-posed that the door of the chamber in which was foundthe body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside

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when the party reached it. Every thing was perfectlysilent–no groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcingthe door no person was seen. The windows, both ofthe back and front room, were down and firmly fas-tened from within. A door between the two rooms wasclosed, but not locked. The door leading from the frontroom into the passage was locked, with the key on theinside. A small room in the front of the house, on thefourth story, at the head of the passage was open, thedoor being ajar. This room was crowded with old beds,boxes, and so forth. These were carefully removed andsearched. There was not an inch of any portion of thehouse which was not carefully searched. Sweeps weresent up and down the chimneys. The house was a fourstory one, with garrets (mansardes.) A trap-door on theroof was nailed down very securely–did not appear tohave been opened for years. The time elapsing betweenthe hearing of the voices in contention and the breakingopen of the room door, was variously stated by the wit-nesses. Some made it as short as three minutes–some aslong as five. The door was opened with difficulty."Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he residesin the Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one ofthe party who entered the house. Did not proceed upstairs. Is nervous, and was apprehensive of the conse-quences of agitation. Heard the voices in contention.The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could not dis-tinguish what was said. The shrill voice was that of anEnglishman–is sure of this. Does not understand theEnglish language, but judges by the intonation."Alberto Montani, confectioner, deposes that he wasamong the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voicesin question. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman.Distinguished several words. The speaker appeared tobe expostulating. Could not make out the words of theshrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Thinks it thevoice of a Russian. Corroborates the general testimony.Is an Italian. Never conversed with a native of Russia."Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the chim-

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neys of all the rooms on the fourth story were too nar-row to admit the passage of a human being. By ’sweeps’were meant cylindrical sweeping brushes, such as areemployed by those who clean chimneys. These brusheswere passed up and down every flue in the house.There is no back passage by which any one couldhave descended while the party proceeded up stairs.The body of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye was so firmlywedged in the chimney that it could not be got downuntil four or five of the party united their strength.

"Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he was calledto view the bodies about day-break. They were boththen lying on the sacking of the bedstead in the cham-ber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The corpse ofthe young lady was much bruised and excoriated. Thefact that it had been thrust up the chimney would suf-ficiently account for these appearances. The throat wasgreatly chafed. There were several deep scratches justbelow the chin, together with a series of livid spotswhich were evidently the impression of fingers. Theface was fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls pro-truded. The tongue had been partially bitten through.A large bruise was discovered upon the pit of the stom-ach, produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee.In the opinion of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L’Espanayehad been throttled to death by some person or personsunknown. The corpse of the mother was horribly muti-lated. All the bones of the right leg and arm were moreor less shattered. The left tibia much splintered, as wellas all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfullybruised and discolored. It was not possible to say howthe injuries had been inflicted. A heavy club of wood, ora broad bar of iron–a chair–any large, heavy, and obtuseweapon would have produced such results, if wieldedby the hands of a very powerful man. No woman couldhave inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head ofthe deceased, when seen by witness, was entirely sep-arated from the body, and was also greatly shattered.The throat had evidently been cut with some very sharp

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instrument–probably with a razor."Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M. Du-mas to view the bodies. Corroborated the testimony,and the opinions of M. Dumas."Nothing farther of importance was elicited, althoughseveral other persons were examined. A murder somysterious, and so perplexing in all its particulars, wasnever before committed in Paris–if indeed a murder hasbeen committed at all. The police are entirely at fault–an unusual occurrence in affairs of this nature. There isnot, however, the shadow of a clew apparent."

The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excite-ment still continued in the Quartier St. Roch–that the premisesin question had been carefully re-searched, and fresh examina-tions of witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript,however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested andimprisoned–although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyondthe facts already detailed.

Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this affair–at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. Itwas only after the announcement that Le Bon had been imprisoned,that he asked me my opinion respecting the murders.

I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them an insolu-ble mystery. I saw no means by which it would be possible to tracethe murderer.

"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by this shell ofan examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled for acumen,are cunning, but no more. There is no method in their proceed-ings, beyond the method of the moment. They make a vast pa-rade of measures; but, not unfrequently, these are so ill adapted tothe objects proposed, as to put us in mind of Monsieur Jourdain’scalling for his robe-de-chambre–pour mieux entendre la musique. Theresults attained by them are not unfrequently surprising, but, forthe most part, are brought about by simple diligence and activity.When these qualities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, forexample, was a good guesser and a persevering man. But, with-out educated thought, he erred continually by the very intensity

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of his investigations. He impaired his vision by holding the objecttoo close. He might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusualclearness, but in so doing he, necessarily, lost sight of the matter asa whole. Thus there is such a thing as being too profound. Truth isnot always in a well. In fact, as regards the more important knowl-edge, I do believe that she is invariably superficial. The depth liesin the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-topswhere she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of error arewell typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To lookat a star by glances–to view it in a side-long way, by turning towardit the exterior portions of the retina (more susceptible of feeble im-pressions of light than the interior), is to behold the star distinctly–is to have the best appreciation of its lustre–a lustre which growsdim just in proportion as we turn our vision fully upon it. A greaternumber of rays actually fall upon the eye in the latter case, but, inthe former, there is the more refined capacity for comprehension.By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeble thought; and it ispossible to make even Venus herself vanish from the firmanent bya scrutiny too sustained, too concentrated, or too direct.

"As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations forourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them. An in-quiry will afford us amusement," [I thought this an odd term, soapplied, but said nothing] "and, besides, Le Bon once rendered mea service for which I am not ungrateful. We will go and see thepremises with our own eyes. I know G—-, the Prefect of Police,and shall have no difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission."

The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to theRue Morgue. This is one of those miserable thoroughfares whichintervene between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It waslate in the afternoon when we reached it; as this quarter is at a greatdistance from that in which we resided. The house was readilyfound; for there were still many persons gazing up at the closedshutters, with an objectless curiosity, from the opposite side of theway. It was an ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on oneside of which was a glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel in thewindow, indicating a loge de concierge. Before going in we walkedup the street, turned down an alley, and then, again turning, passedin the rear of the building–Dupin, meanwhile examining the wholeneighborhood, as well as the house, with a minuteness of attention

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for which I could see no possible object.Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling,

rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admitted by theagents in charge. We went up stairs–into the chamber where thebody of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye had been found, and where boththe deceased still lay. The disorders of the room had, as usual,been suffered to exist. I saw nothing beyond what had been statedin the "Gazette des Tribunaux." Dupin scrutinized every thing–notexcepting the bodies of the victims. We then went into the otherrooms, and into the yard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout.The examination occupied us until dark, when we took our depar-ture. On our way home my companion stepped in for a moment atthe office of one of the daily papers.

I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold, and thatJe les ménagais:–for this phrase there is no English equivalent. It washis humor, now, to decline all conversation on the subject of themurder, until about noon the next day. He then asked me, suddenly,if I had observed any thing peculiar at the scene of the atrocity.

There was something in his manner of emphasizing the word"peculiar," which caused me to shudder, without knowing why.

"No, nothing peculiar," I said; "nothing more, at least, than weboth saw stated in the paper."

"The ’Gazette,’" he replied, "has not entered, I fear, into the un-usual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opinions of thisprint. It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble,for the very reason which should cause it to be regarded as easyof solution–I mean for the outré character of its features. The po-lice are confounded by the seeming absence of motive–not for themurder itself–but for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled,too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard incontention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs butthe assassinated Mademoiselle L’Espanaye, and that there were nomeans of egress without the notice of the party ascending. The wilddisorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward,up the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady;these considerations, with those just mentioned, and others which Ineed not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by puttingcompletely at fault the boasted acumen, of the government agents.

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They have fallen into the gross but common error of confoundingthe unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these deviations fromthe plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, in itssearch for the true. In investigations such as we are now pursuing,it should not be so much asked ’what has occurred,’ as ’what hasoccurred that has never occurred before.’ In fact, the facility withwhich I shall arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this mystery,is in the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of thepolice."

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward the door ofour apartment–"I am now awaiting a person who, although per-haps not the perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been insome measure implicated in their perpetration. Of the worst por-tion of the crimes committed, it is probable that he is innocent. Ihope that I am right in this supposition; for upon it I build my ex-pectation of reading the entire riddle. I look for the man here–inthis room–every moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but theprobability is that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary todetain him. Here are pistols; and we both know how to use themwhen occasion demands their use."

I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing whatI heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I havealready spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His discoursewas addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud,had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking tosome one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, re-garded only the wall.

"That the voices heard in contention," he said, "by the party uponthe stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fullyproved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the ques-tion whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughterand afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this point chieflyfor the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L’Espanayewould have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daugh-ter’s corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature ofthe wounds upon her own person entirely preclude the idea ofself-destruction. Murder, then, has been committed by some third

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party; and the voices of this third party were those heard in con-tention. Let me now advert–not to the whole testimony respectingthese voices–but to what was peculiar in that testimony. Did youobserve any thing peculiar about it?"

I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing thegruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreementin regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harshvoice.

"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was not the pe-culiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive.Yet there was something to be observed. The witnesses, as youremark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous.But in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is–not that theydisagreed–but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard,a Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each onespoke of it as that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voiceof one of his own countrymen. Each likens it–not to the voice of anindividual of any nation with whose language he is conversant–butthe converse. The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard,and ’might have distinguished some words had he been acquaintedwith the Spanish.’ The Dutchman maintains it to have been that ofa Frenchman; but we find it stated that ’not understanding Frenchthis witness was examined through an interpreter.’ The Englishmanthinks it the voice of a German, and ’does not understand German.’The Spaniard ’is sure’ that it was that of an Englishman, but ’judgesby the intonation’ altogether, ’as he has no knowledge of the English.’The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but ’has never conversedwith a native of Russia.’ A second Frenchman differs, moreover, withthe first, and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian; but,not being cognizant of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard, ’convincedby the intonation.’ Now, how strangely unusual must that voicehave really been, about which such testimony as this could havebeen elicited!–in whose tones, even, denizens of the five great divi-sions of Europe could recognise nothing familiar! You will say thatit might have been the voice of an Asiatic–of an African. NeitherAsiatics nor Africans abound in Paris; but, without denying the in-ference, I will now merely call your attention to three points. Thevoice is termed by one witness ’harsh rather than shrill.’ It is repre-sented by two others to have been ’quick and unequal.’ No words–

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no sounds resembling words–were by any witness mentioned asdistinguishable.

"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may havemade, so far, upon your own understanding; but I do not hesi-tate to say that legitimate deductions even from this portion of thetestimony–the portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices–are inthemselves sufficient to engender a suspicion which should givedirection to all farther progress in the investigation of the mystery.I said ’legitimate deductions;’ but my meaning is not thus fully ex-pressed. I designed to imply that the deductions are the sole properones, and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as the sin-gle result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet.I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was suf-ficiently forcible to give a definite form–a certain tendency–to myinquiries in the chamber.

"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. Whatshall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the mur-derers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in præter-natural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L’Espanaye were notdestroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and es-caped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one modeof reasoning upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a defi-nite decision.–Let us examine, each by each, the possible means ofegress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where Made-moiselle L’Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining,when the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these twoapartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid barethe floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every di-rection. No secret issues could have escaped their vigilance. But,not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were,then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into thepassage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn tothe chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight orten feet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent,the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means al-ready stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows.Through those of the front room no one could have escaped with-out notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers must havepassed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this

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conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part,as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It isonly left for us to prove that these apparent ’impossibilities’ are, inreality, not such.

"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unob-structed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion ofthe other is hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bed-stead which is thrust close up against it. The former was foundsecurely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost force of thosewho endeavored to raise it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced inits frame to the left, and a very stout nail was found fitted therein,nearly to the head. Upon examining the other window, a simi-lar nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt toraise this sash, failed also. The police were now entirely satisfiedthat egress had not been in these directions. And, therefore, it wasthought a matter of supererogation to withdraw the nails and openthe windows.

"My own examination was somewhat more particular, and wasso for the reason I have just given–because here it was, I knew, thatall apparent impossibilities must be proved to be not such in reality.

"I proceeded to think thus–à posteriori. The murderers did escapefrom one of these windows. This being so, they could not haverefastened the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened;–the consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to thescrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened.They must, then, have the power of fastening themselves. Therewas no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructedcasement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty and attempted toraise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had anticipated. Aconcealed spring must, I now know, exist; and this corroborationof my idea convinced me that my premises at least, were correct,however mysterious still appeared the circumstances attending thenails. A careful search soon brought to light the hidden spring. Ipressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery, forbore to upraise thesash.

"I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A personpassing out through this window might have reclosed it, and thespring would have caught–but the nail could not have been re-placed. The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in the field

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of my investigations. The assassins must have escaped through theother window. Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to bethe same, as was probable, there must be found a difference be-tween the nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Get-ting upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the head-boardminutely at the second casement. Passing my hand down behindthe board, I readily discovered and pressed the spring, which was,as I had supposed, identical in character with its neighbor. I nowlooked at the nail. It was as stout as the other, and apparently fittedin the same manner–driven in nearly up to the head.

"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you musthave misunderstood the nature of the inductions. To use a sport-ing phrase, I had not been once ’at fault.’ The scent had never foran instant been lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. Ihad traced the secret to its ultimate result,–and that result was thenail. It had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow inthe other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusiveus it might seem to be) when compared with the consideration thathere, at this point, terminated the clew. ’There must be somethingwrong,’ I said, ’about the nail.’ I touched it; and the head, withabout a quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. Therest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole where it had been brokenoff. The fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted withrust), and had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a ham-mer, which had partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash,the head portion of the nail. I now carefully replaced this head por-tion in the indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblanceto a perfect nail was complete–the fissure was invisible. Pressingthe spring, I gently raised the sash for a few inches; the head wentup with it, remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and thesemblance of the whole nail was again perfect.

"The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escapedthrough the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of itsown accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had be-come fastened by the spring; and it was the retention of this springwhich had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail,–fartherinquiry being thus considered unnecessary.

"The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon thispoint I had been satisfied in my walk with you around the build-

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ing. About five feet and a half from the casement in question thereruns a lightning-rod. From this rod it would have been impossiblefor any one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of enteringit. I observed, however, that the shutters of the fourth story wereof the peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters ferrades–a kindrarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon veryold mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the form of anordinary door, (a single, not a folding door) except that the lowerhalf is latticed or worked in open trellis–thus affording an excellenthold for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fullythree feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear ofthe house, they were both about half open–that is to say, they stoodoff at right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, aswell as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but, if so, inlooking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth (as they musthave done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at allevents, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having oncesatisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in thisquarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory exami-nation. It was clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging tothe window at the head of the bed, would, if swung fully back tothe wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was alsoevident that, by exertion of a very unusual degree of activity andcourage, an entrance into the window, from the rod, might havebeen thus effected.–By reaching to the distance of two feet and ahalf (we now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a rob-ber might have taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Lettinggo, then, his hold upon the rod, placing his feet securely against thewall, and springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shut-ter so as to close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time,might even have swung himself into the room.

"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of averyunusual degree of activity as requisite to success in so hazardousand so difficult a feat. It is my design to show you, first, thatthe thing might possibly have been accomplished:–but, secondlyand chiefly, I wish to impress upon your understanding thevery ex-traordinary–the almost præternatural character of that agility whichcould have accomplished it.

"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that ’to

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make out my case,’ I should rather undervalue, than insist upon afull estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may bethe practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate ob-ject is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to lead you to placein juxtaposition, thatvery unusual activity of which I have just spo-ken with thatvery peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, aboutwhose nationality no two persons could be found to agree, and inwhose utterance no syllabification could be detected."

At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the mean-ing of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge ofcomprehension without power to comprehend–men, at times, findthemselves upon the brink of remembrance without being able, inthe end, to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.

"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the question fromthe mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to conveythe idea that both were effected in the same manner, at the samepoint. Let us now revert to the interior of the room. Let us sur-vey the appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said,had been rifled, although many articles of apparel still remainedwithin them. The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess–avery silly one–and no more. How are we to know that the arti-cles found in the drawers were not all these drawers had originallycontained? Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceed-ingly retired life–saw no company–seldom went out–had little usefor numerous changes of habiliment. Those found were at leastof as good quality as any likely to be possessed by these ladies.If a thief had taken any, why did he not take the best–why didhe not take all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousandfrancs in gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen? Thegold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Mon-sieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags, upon the floor.I wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts the blunderingidea of motive, engendered in the brains of the police by that portionof the evidence which speaks of money delivered at the door of thehouse. Coincidences ten times as remarkable as this (the deliveryof the money, and murder committed within three days upon theparty receiving it), happen to all of us every hour of our lives, with-out attracting even momentary notice. Coincidences, in general, aregreat stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have

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been educated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities–thattheory to which the most glorious objects of human research are in-debted for the most glorious of illustration. In the present instance,had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three days beforewould have formed something more than a coincidence. It wouldhave been corroborative of this idea of motive. But, under the realcircumstances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive ofthis outrage, we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating anidiot as to have abandoned his gold and his motive together.

"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawnyour attention–that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and thatstartling absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious asthis–let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman stran-gled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, headdownward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murderas this. Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In themanner of thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will admit thatthere was something excessively outré–something altogether irrecon-cilable with our common notions of human action, even when wesuppose the actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, howgreat must have been that strength which could have thrust thebody up such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor of severalpersons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!

"Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a vigormost marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses–very thicktresses–of grey human hair. These had been torn out by the roots.You are aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from thehead even twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks inquestion as well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) wereclotted with fragments of the flesh of the scalp–sure token of theprodigious power which had been exerted in uprooting perhapshalf a million of hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was notmerely cut, but the head absolutely severed from the body: the in-strument was a mere razor. I wish you also to look at the brutalferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of MadameL’Espanaye I do not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coad-jutor Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflictedby some obtuse instrument; and so far these gentlemen are verycorrect. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stone pavement in

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the yard, upon which the victim had fallen from the window whichlooked in upon the bed. This idea, however simple it may nowseem, escaped the police for the same reason that the breadth of theshutters escaped them–because, by the affair of the nails, their per-ceptions had been hermetically sealed against the possibility of thewindows having ever been opened at all.

"If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly re-flected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so faras to combine the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength super-human, a ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a grotesqueriein horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign intone to the ears of men of many nations, and devoid of all distinctor intelligible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? Whatimpression have I made upon your fancy?"

I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. "Amadman," I said, "has done this deed–some raving maniac, escapedfrom a neighboring Maison de Santé."

"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is not irrelevant. Butthe voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are neverfound to tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Mad-men are of some nation, and their language, however incoherent inits words, has always the coherence of syllabification. Besides, thehair of a madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disen-tangled this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of MadameL’Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it."

"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is most unusual–this is no human hair."

"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but, before we decidethis point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have heretraced upon this paper. It is a fac-simile drawing of what has beendescribed in one portion of the testimony as ’dark bruises, anddeep indentations of finger nails,’ upon the throat of MademoiselleL’Espanaye, and in another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a’series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.’

"You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading out the pa-per upon the table before us, "that this drawing gives the idea of afirm and fixed hold. There is no slipping apparent. Each finger hasretained–possibly until the death of the victim–the fearful grasp by

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which it originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all yourfingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you seethem."

I made the attempt in vain."We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial," he said. "The

paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human throat iscylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which isabout that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try theexperiment again."

I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before."This," I said, "is the mark of no human hand."

"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from Cuvier."It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of

the large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. Thegigantic stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild fe-rocity, and the imitative propensities of these mammalia are suffi-ciently well known to all. I understood the full horrors of the mur-der at once.

"The description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of read-ing, "is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no ani-mal but an Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, couldhave impressed the indentations as you have traced them. This tuftof tawny hair, too, is identical in character with that of the beastof Cuvier. But I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars ofthis frightful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in con-tention, and one of them was unquestionably the voice of a French-man."

"True; and you will remember an expression attributed almostunanimously, by the evidence, to this voice,–the expression, ’monDieu!’ This, under the circumstances, has been justly character-ized by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an ex-pression of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words,therefore, I have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of theriddle. A Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible–indeed it is far more than probable–that he was innocent of all par-ticipation in the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from him. He may have traced it to the

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chamber; but, under the agitating circumstances which ensued, hecould never have re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pur-sue these guesses–for I have no right to call them more–since theshades of reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of suffi-cient depth to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I couldnot pretend to make them intelligible to the understanding of an-other. We will call them guesses then, and speak of them as such.If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent ofthis atrocity, this advertisement which I left last night, upon ourreturn home, at the office of ’Le Monde,’ (a paper devoted to theshipping interest, and much sought by sailors,) will bring him toour residence."

He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

CAUGHT–In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morn-ing of the–inst., (the morning of the murder,) a verylarge, tawny Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species.The owner, (who is ascertained to be a sailor, belongingto a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal again, uponidentifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few chargesarising from its capture and keeping. Call at No. —-,Rue —-, Faubourg St. Germain–au troisiême.

"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should know the manto be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?"

"I do not know it," said Dupin. "I am not sure of it. Here, how-ever, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from itsgreasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in oneof those long Vueues of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, thisknot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar to theMaltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. Itcould not have belonged to either of the deceased. Now if, after all,I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that the Frenchmanwas a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can have done noharm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am in error,he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some circum-stance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But if I amright, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent of themurder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replying to the

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advertisement–about demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will rea-son thus:–’I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of greatvalue–to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself–why should Ilose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within mygrasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne–at a vast distance fromthe scene of that butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brutebeast should have done the deed? The police are at fault–they havefailed to procure the slightest clew. Should they even trace the an-imal, it would be impossible to prove me cognizant of the murder,or to implicate me in guilt on account of that cognizance. Aboveall, I am known. The advertiser designates me as the possessor ofthe beast. I am not sure to what limit his knowledge may extend.Should I avoid claiming a property of so great value, which it isknown that I possess, I will render the animal at least, liable to sus-picion. It is not my policy to attract attention either to myself or tothe beast. I will answer the advertisement, get the Ourang-Outang,and keep it close until this matter has blown over.’"

At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs."Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neither use them

nor show them until at a signal from myself."The front door of the house had been left open, and the visiter

had entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon thestaircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heardhim descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when weagain heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time,but stepped up with decision, and rapped at the door of our cham-ber.

"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently,–a tall, stout, and

muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression ofcountenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly sun-burnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and mustachio. Hehad with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwiseunarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening,"in French accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, werestill sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.

"Sit down, my friend," said Dupin. "I suppose you have calledabout the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the

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possession of him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuableanimal. How old do you suppose him to be?"

The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved ofsome intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone:

"I have no way of telling–but he can’t be more than four or fiveyears old. Have you got him here?"

"Oh no, we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is ata livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in themorning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?"

"To be sure I am, sir.""I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin."I don’t mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing,

sir," said the man. "Couldn’t expect it. Am very willing to paya reward for the finding of the animal–that is to say, any thing inreason."

"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let methink!–what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shallbe this. You shall give me all the information in your power aboutthese murders in the Rue Morgue."

Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly.Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and putthe key in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom andplaced it, without the least flurry, upon the table.

The sailor’s face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffo-cation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the nextmoment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with thecountenance of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him fromthe bottom of my heart.

"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming your-self unnecessarily–you are indeed. We mean you no harm what-ever. I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman,that we intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are in-nocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however,to deny that you are in some measure implicated in them. Fromwhat I have already said, you must know that I have had meansof information about this matter–means of which you could never

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have dreamed. Now the thing stands thus. You have done nothingwhich you could have avoided–nothing, certainly, which rendersyou culpable. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you mighthave robbed with impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You haveno reason for concealment. On the other hand, you are bound byevery principle of honor to confess all you know. An innocent manis now imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you can pointout the perpetrator."

The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great mea-sure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness ofbearing was all gone.

"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all Iknow about this affair;–but I do not expect you to believe one half Isay–I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I willmake a clean breast if I die for it."

What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made avoyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formedone, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursionof pleasure. Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang-Outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclu-sive possession. After great trouble, occasioned by the intractableferocity of his captive during the home voyage, he at length suc-ceeded in lodging it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, notto attract toward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors,he kept it carefully secluded, until such time as it should recoverfrom a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship.His ultimate design was to sell it.

Returning home from some sailors’ frolic the night, or rather inthe morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his ownbed-room, into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, whereit had been, as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, andfully lathered, it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting theoperation of shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watchedits master through the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight ofso dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious,and so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at aloss what to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet thecreature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this

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he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang atonce through the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence,through a window, unfortunately open, into the street.

The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand,occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer,until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off.In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streetswere profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o’clock in the morn-ing. In passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, thefugitive’s attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the openwindow of Madame L’Espanaye’s chamber, in the fourth story ofher house. Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning rod,clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, whichwas thrown fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swungitself directly upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat didnot occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open again by theOurang-Outang as it entered the room.

The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. Hehad strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcelyescape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod,where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand,there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in thehouse. This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugi-tive. A lightning rod is ascended without difficulty, especially bya sailor; but, when he had arrived as high as the window, whichlay far to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he could ac-complish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interiorof the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold throughexcess of horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose uponthe night, which had startled from slumber the inmates of the RueMorgue. Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter, habited in theirnight clothes, had apparently been occupied in arranging some pa-pers in the iron chest already mentioned, which had been wheeledinto the middle of the room. It was open, and its contents lay be-side it on the floor. The victims must have been sitting with theirbacks toward the window; and, from the time elapsing between theingress of the beast and the screams, it seems probable that it wasnot immediately perceived. The flapping-to of the shutter wouldnaturally have been attributed to the wind.

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As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized MadameL’Espanaye by the hair, (which was loose, as she had been comb-ing it,) and was flourishing the razor about her face, in imitationof the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motion-less; she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady(during which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect ofchanging the probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang intothose of wrath. With one determined sweep of its muscular arm itnearly severed her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamedits anger into phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from itseyes, it flew upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearfultalons in her throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wan-dering and wild glances fell at this moment upon the head of thebed, over which the face of its master, rigid with horror, was justdiscernible. The fury of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mindthe dreaded whip, was instantly converted into fear. Consciousof having deserved punishment, it seemed desirous of concealingits bloody deeds, and skipped about the chamber in an agony ofnervous agitation; throwing down and breaking the furniture as itmoved, and dragging the bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, itseized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chim-ney, as it was found; then that of the old lady, which it immediatelyhurled through the window headlong.

As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated burden,the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than clam-bering down it, hurried at once home–dreading the consequencesof the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitudeabout the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the partyupon the staircase were the Frenchman’s exclamations of horrorand affright, commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.

I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must haveescaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before the break of thedoor. It must have closed the window as it passed through it. Itwas subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained forit a very large sum at the Jardin des Plantes. Le Don was instantlyreleased, upon our narration of the circumstances (with some com-ments from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This func-tionary, however well disposed to my friend, could not altogetherconceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was

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fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of everyperson minding his own business.

"Let him talk," said Dupin, who had not thought it necessary toreply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience, I am satisfiedwith having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that hefailed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means that matter forwonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the Prefect issomewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen.It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna,–or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he is a goodcreature after all. I like him especially for one master stroke of cant,by which he has attained his reputation for ingenuity. I mean theway he has ’de nier ce qui est, et d’expliquer ce qui n’est pas.’"5

5Rousseau–Nouvelle Heloise.

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THE MYSTERY OF MARIE

ROGET

A SEQUEL TO "THE MURDERS IN THE RUEMORGUE".6

Es gibt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die derWirklichkeit parallel lauft. Selten fallen sie zusam-men. Menschen und zufalle modifieiren gewohulich

6Upon the original publication of "Marie Roget," the foot-notes now ap-pended were considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several years since thetragedy upon which the tale is based, renders it expedient to give them, andalso to say a few words in explanation of the general design. A young girl,Mary Cecilia Rogers, was murdered in the vicinity of New York; and, althoughher death occasioned an intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery at-tending it had remained unsolved at the period when the present paper waswritten and published (November, 1842). Herein, under pretence of relatingthe fate of a Parisian grisette, the author has followed in minute detail, the es-sential, while merely paralleling the inessential facts of the real murder of MaryRogers. Thus all argument founded upon the fiction is applicable to the truth:and the investigation of the truth was the object. The "Mystery of Marie Roget"was composed at a distance from the scene of the atrocity, and with no othermeans of investigation than the newspapers afforded. Thus much escaped thewriter of which he could have availed himself had he been upon the spot, andvisited the localities. It may not be improper to record, nevertheless, that theconfessions of two persons, (one of them the Madame Deluc of the narrative)made, at different periods, long subsequent to the publication, confirmed, infull, not only the general conclusion, but absolutely all the chief hypotheticaldetails by which that conclusion was attained.

THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET

die idealische Begebenheit, so dass sie unvollkommenerscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommensind. So bei der Reformation; statt des Protestantismuskam das Lutherthum hervor.There are ideal series of events which run parallel withthe real ones. They rarely coincide. Men and cir-cumstances generally modify the ideal train of events,so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences areequally imperfect. Thus with the Reformation; insteadof Protestantism came Lutheranism.–Novalis.7 Moral Ansichten.

There are few persons, even among the calmest thinkers, whohave not occasionally been startled into a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly mar-vellous a character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has beenunable to receive them. Such sentiments–for the half-credences ofwhich I speak have never the full force of thought–such sentimentsare seldom thoroughly stifled unless by reference to the doctrine ofchance, or, as it is technically termed, the Calculus of Probabilities.Now this Calculus is, in its essence, purely mathematical; and thuswe have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in science applied tothe shadow and spirituality of the most intangible in speculation.

The extraordinary details which I am now called upon to makepublic, will be found to form, as regards sequence of time, the pri-mary branch of a series of scarcely intelligible coincidences, whosesecondary or concluding branch will be recognized by all readersin the late murder of Mary Cecila Rogers, at New York.

When, in an article entitled "The Murders in the Rue Morgue,"I endeavored, about a year ago, to depict some very remarkablefeatures in the mental character of my friend, the Chevalier C. Au-guste Dupin, it did not occur to me that I should ever resume thesubject. This depicting of character constituted my design; and thisdesign was thoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstancesbrought to instance Dupin’s idiosyncrasy. I might have adducedother examples, but I should have proven no more. Late events,

7The nom de plume of Von Hardenburg.

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however, in their surprising development, have startled me intosome farther details, which will carry with them the air of extortedconfession. Hearing what I have lately heard, it would be indeedstrange should I remain silent in regard to what I both heard andsaw so long ago.

Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the deaths ofMadame L’Espanaye and her daughter, the Chevalier dismissed theaffair at once from his attention, and relapsed into his old habitsof moody reverie. Prone, at all times, to abstraction, I readily fellin with his humor; and, continuing to occupy our chambers inthe Faubourg Saint Germain, we gave the Future to the winds,and slumbered tranquilly in the Present, weaving the dull worldaround us into dreams.

But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted. It may read-ily be supposed that the part played by my friend, in the drama atthe Rue Morgue, had not failed of its impression upon the fanciesof the Parisian police. With its emissaries, the name of Dupin hadgrown into a household word. The simple character of those in-ductions by which he had disentangled the mystery never havingbeen explained even to the Prefect, or to any other individual thanmyself, of course it is not surprising that the affair was regarded aslittle less than miraculous, or that the Chevalier’s analytical abilitiesacquired for him the credit of intuition. His frankness would haveled him to disabuse every inquirer of such prejudice; but his indo-lent humor forbade all farther agitation of a topic whose interest tohimself had long ceased. It thus happened that he found himselfthe cynosure of the political eyes; and the cases were not few inwhich attempt was made to engage his services at the Prefecture.One of the most remarkable instances was that of the murder of ayoung girl named Marie Rogêt.

This event occurred about two years after the atrocity in the RueMorgue. Marie, whose Christian and family name will at once ar-rest attention from their resemblance to those of the unfortunate"cigargirl," was the only daughter of the widow Estelle Rogêt. Thefather had died during the child’s infancy, and from the period ofhis death, until within eighteen months before the assassinationwhich forms the subject of our narrative, the mother and daugh-

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ter had dwelt together in the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée;8 Madamethere keeping a pension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thusuntil the latter had attained her twenty-second year, when her greatbeauty attracted the notice of a perfumer, who occupied one of theshops in the basement of the Palais Royal, and whose custom laychiefly among the desperate adventurers infesting that neighbor-hood. Monsieur Le Blanc9 was not unaware of the advantages to bederived from the attendance of the fair Marie in his perfumery; andhis liberal proposals were accepted eagerly by the girl, althoughwith somewhat more of hesitation by Madame.

The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realized, and his roomssoon became notorious through the charms of the sprightly grisette.She had been in his employ about a year, when her admirers werethrown info confusion by her sudden disappearance from the shop.Monsieur Le Blanc was unable to account for her absence, andMadame Rogêt was distracted with anxiety and terror. The publicpapers immediately took up the theme, and the police were uponthe point of making serious investigations, when, one fine morning,after the lapse of a week, Marie, in good health, but with a some-what saddened air, made her re-appearance at her usual counter inthe perfumery. All inquiry, except that of a private character, wasof course immediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blanc professed totalignorance, as before. Marie, with Madame, replied to all questions,that the last week had been spent at the house of a relation in thecountry. Thus the affair died away, and was generally forgotten;for the girl, ostensibly to relieve herself from the impertinence ofcuriosity, soon bade a final adieu to the perfumer, and sought theshelter of her mother’s residence in the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée.

It was about five months after this return home, that her friendswere alarmed by her sudden disappearance for the second time.Three days elapsed, and nothing was heard of her. On the fourthher corpse was found floating in the Seine, * near the shore whichis opposite the Quartier of the Rue Saint Andree, and at a point notvery far distant from the secluded neighborhood of the Barrière duRoule.10

8Nassau Street.9Anderson.

10Weehawken.

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The atrocity of this murder, (for it was at once evident that mur-der had been committed,) the youth and beauty of the victim, and,above all, her previous notoriety, conspired to produce intense ex-citement in the minds of the sensitive Parisians. I can call to mindno similar occurrence producing so general and so intense an ef-fect. For several weeks, in the discussion of this one absorbingtheme, even the momentous political topics of the day were for-gotten. The Prefect made unusual exertions; and the powers of thewhole Parisian police were, of course, tasked to the utmost extent.

Upon the first discovery of the corpse, it was not supposed thatthe murderer would be able to elude, for more than a very brief pe-riod, the inquisition which was immediately set on foot. It was notuntil the expiration of a week that it was deemed necessary to of-fer a reward; and even then this reward was limited to a thousandfrancs. In the mean time the investigation proceeded with vigor, ifnot always with judgment, and numerous individuals were exam-ined to no purpose; while, owing to the continual absence of all clueto the mystery, the popular excitement greatly increased. At the endof the tenth day it was thought advisable to double the sum orig-inally proposed; and, at length, the second week having elapsedwithout leading to any discoveries, and the prejudice which alwaysexists in Paris against the Police having given vent to itself in sev-eral serious émeutes, the Prefect took it upon himself to offer thesum of twenty thousand francs "for the conviction of the assassin,"or, if more than one should prove to have been implicated, "for theconviction of any one of the assassins." In the proclamation settingforth this reward, a full pardon was promised to any accomplicewho should come forward in evidence against his fellow; and to thewhole was appended, wherever it appeared, the private placard ofa committee of citizens, offering ten thousand francs, in additionto the amount proposed by the Prefecture. The entire reward thusstood at no less than thirty thousand francs, which will be regardedas an extraordinary sum when we consider the humble condition ofthe girl, and the great frequency, in large cities, of such atrocities asthe one described.

No one doubted now that the mystery of this murder wouldbe immediately brought to light. But although, in one or two in-stances, arrests were made which promised elucidation, yet noth-ing was elicited which could implicate the parties suspected; and

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they were discharged forthwith. Strange as it may appear, the thirdweek from the discovery of the body had passed, and passed with-out any light being thrown upon the subject, before even a rumor ofthe events which had so agitated the public mind, reached the earsof Dupin and myself. Engaged in researches which absorbed ourwhole attention, it had been nearly a month since either of us hadgone abroad, or received a visiter, or more than glanced at the lead-ing political articles in one of the daily papers. The first intelligenceof the murder was brought us by G —-, in person. He called uponus early in the afternoon of the thirteenth of July, 18–, and remainedwith us until late in the night. He had been piqued by the failureof all his endeavors to ferret out the assassins. His reputation–sohe said with a peculiarly Parisian air–was at stake. Even his honorwas concerned. The eyes of the public were upon him; and therewas really no sacrifice which he would not be willing to make forthe development of the mystery. He concluded a somewhat drollspeech with a compliment upon what he was pleased to term thetact of Dupin, and made him a direct, and certainly a liberal propo-sition, the precise nature of which I do not feel myself at liberty todisclose, but which has no bearing upon the proper subject of mynarrative.

The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, but theproposition he accepted at once, although its advantages were al-together provisional. This point being settled, the Prefect brokeforth at once into explanations of his own views, interspersing themwith long comments upon the evidence; of which latter we werenot yet in possession. He discoursed much, and beyond doubt,learnedly; while I hazarded an occasional suggestion as the nightwore drowsily away. Dupin, sitting steadily in his accustomed arm-chair, was the embodiment of respectful attention. He wore spec-tacles, during the whole interview; and an occasional signal glancebeneath their green glasses, sufficed to convince me that he sleptnot the less soundly, because silently, throughout the seven or eightleaden-footed hours which immediately preceded the departure ofthe Prefect.

In the morning, I procured, at the Prefecture, a full report of allthe evidence elicited, and, at the various newspaper offices, a copyof every paper in which, from first to last, had been published anydecisive information in regard to this sad affair. Freed from all that

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was positively disproved, this mass of information stood thus:Marie Rogêt left the residence of her mother, in the Rue Pavée

St. Andrée, about nine o’clock in the morning of Sunday June thetwenty-second, 18–. In going out, she gave notice to a MonsieurJacques St. Eustache,11 and to him only, of her intent intention tospend the day with an aunt who resided in the Rue des Drômes.The Rue des Drômes is a short and narrow but populous thorough-fare, not far from the banks of the river, and at a distance of sometwo miles, in the most direct course possible, from the pension ofMadame Rogêt. St. Eustache was the accepted suitor of Marie, andlodged, as well as took his meals, at the pension. He was to havegone for his betrothed at dusk, and to have escorted her home. Inthe afternoon, however, it came on to rain heavily; and, suppos-ing that she would remain all night at her aunt’s, (as she had doneunder similar circumstances before,) he did not think it necessaryto keep his promise. As night drew on, Madame Rogêt (who wasan infirm old lady, seventy years of age,) was heard to express afear "that she should never see Marie again;" but this observationattracted little attention at the time.

On Monday, it was ascertained that the girl had not been to theRue des Drômes; and when the day elapsed without tidings of her,a tardy search was instituted at several points in the city, and itsenvirons. It was not, however until the fourth day from the pe-riod of disappearance that any thing satisfactory was ascertainedrespecting her. On this day, (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of June,)a Monsieur Beauvais,12 who, with a friend, had been making in-quiries for Marie near the Barrière du Roule, on the shore of theSeine which is opposite the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, was informedthat a corpse had just been towed ashore by some fishermen, whohad found it floating in the river. Upon seeing the body, Beauvais,after some hesitation, identified it as that of the perfumery-girl. Hisfriend recognized it more promptly.

The face was suffused with dark blood, some of which issuedfrom the mouth. No foam was seen, as in the case of the merelydrowned. There was no discoloration in the cellular tissue. Aboutthe throat were bruises and impressions of fingers. The arms were

11Payne.12Crommelin.

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bent over on the chest and were rigid. The right hand was clenched;the left partially open. On the left wrist were two circular exco-riations, apparently the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more thanone volution. A part of the right wrist, also, was much chafed, aswell as the back throughout its extent, but more especially at theshoulder-blades. In bringing the body to the shore the fishermenhad attached to it a rope; but none of the excoriations had been ef-fected by this. The flesh of the neck was much swollen. There wereno cuts apparent, or bruises which appeared the effect of blows.A piece of lace was found tied so tightly around the neck as to behidden from sight; it was completely buried in the flesh, and wasfasted by a knot which lay just under the left ear. This alone wouldhave sufficed to produce death. The medical testimony spoke con-fidently of the virtuous character of the deceased. She had beensubjected, it said, to brutal violence. The corpse was in such con-dition when found, that there could have been no difficulty in itsrecognition by friends.

The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. In the outergarment, a slip, about a foot wide, had been torn upward from thebottom hem to the waist, but not torn off. It was wound three timesaround the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back. Thedress immediately beneath the frock was of fine muslin; and fromthis a slip eighteen inches wide had been torn entirely out–torn veryevenly and with great care. It was found around her neck, fittingloosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this muslin slip andthe slip of lace, the strings of a bonnet were attached; the bonnetbeing appended. The knot by which the strings of the bonnet werefastened, was not a lady’s, but a slip or sailor’s knot.

After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual, taken tothe Morgue, (this formality being superfluous,) but hastily interrednot far from the spot at which it was brought ashore. Throughthe exertions of Beauvais, the matter was industriously hushed up,as far as possible; and several days had elapsed before any publicemotion resulted. A weekly paper,13 however, at length took up thetheme; the corpse was disinterred, and a re-examination instituted;but nothing was elicited beyond what has been already noted. Theclothes, however, were now submitted to the mother and friends of

13The New York "Mercury."

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the deceased, and fully identified as those worn by the girl uponleaving home.

Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Several individualswere arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fell especially undersuspicion; and he failed, at first, to give an intelligible account of hiswhereabouts during the Sunday on which Marie left home. Subse-quently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G—-, affidavits, ac-counting satisfactorily for every hour of the day in question. Astime passed and no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory ru-mors were circulated, and journalists busied themselves in sugges-tions. Among these, the one which attracted the most notice, wasthe idea that Marie Rogêt still lived–that the corpse found in theSeine was that of some other unfortunate. It will be proper that Isubmit to the reader some passages which embody the suggestionalluded to. These passages are literal translations from L’Etoile,14 apaper conducted, in general, with much ability.

"Mademoiselle Rogêt left her mother’s house on Sunday morn-ing, June the twenty-second, 18–, with the ostensible purpose ofgoing to see her aunt, or some other connexion, in the Rue desDrômes. From that hour, nobody is proved to have seen her. Thereis no trace or tidings of her at all.... There has no person, whatever,come forward, so far, who saw her at all, on that day, after she lefther mother’s door.... Now, though we have no evidence that MarieRogêt was in the land of the living after nine o’clock on Sunday,June the twenty-second, we have proof that, up to that hour, shewas alive. On Wednesday noon, at twelve, a female body was dis-covered afloat on the shore of the Barrière de Roule. This was, evenif we presume that Marie Rogêt was thrown into the river withinthree hours after she left her mother’s house, only three days fromthe time she left her home–three days to an hour. But it is folly tosuppose that the murder, if murder was committed on her body,could have been consummated soon enough to have enabled hermurderers to throw the body into the river before midnight. Thosewho are guilty of such horrid crimes, choose darkness rather thelight.... Thus we see that if the body found in the river was thatof Marie Rogêt, it could only have been in the water two and ahalf days, or three at the outside. All experience has shown that

14The New York "Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Hastings Weld, Esq.

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drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediately afterdeath by violence, require from six to ten days for decompositionto take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even where acannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or sixdays’ immersion, it sinks again, if let alone. Now, we ask, what wasthere in this cave to cause a departure from the ordinary course ofnature?... If the body had been kept in its mangled state on shoreuntil Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of themurderers. It is a doubtful point, also, whether the body wouldbe so soon afloat, even were it thrown in after having been deadtwo days. And, furthermore, it is exceedingly improbable that anyvillains who had committed such a murder as is here supposed,would have thrown the body in without weight to sink it, whensuch a precaution could have so easily been taken."

The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must have beenin the water "not three days merely, but, at least, five times threedays," because it was so far decomposed that Beauvais had greatdifficulty in recognizing it. This latter point, however, was fullydisproved. I continue the translation:

"What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says that he hasno doubt the body was that of Marie Rogêt? He ripped up the gownsleeve, and says he found marks which satisfied him of the identity.The public generally supposed those marks to have consisted ofsome description of scars. He rubbed the arm and found hair uponit–something as indefinite, we think, as can readily be imagined–aslittle conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. Beauvais didnot return that night, but sent word to Madame Rogêt, at seveno’clock, on Wednesday evening, that an investigation was still inprogress respecting her daughter. If we allow that Madame Rogêt,from her age and grief, could not go over, (which is allowing a greatdeal,) there certainly must have been some one who would havethought it worth while to go over and attend the investigation, ifthey thought the body was that of Marie. Nobody went over. Therewas nothing said or heard about the matter in the Rue Pavée St. An-drée, that reached even the occupants of the same building. M. St.Eustache, the lover and intended husband of Marie, who boardedin her mother’s house, deposes that he did not hear of the discov-ery of the body of his intended until the next morning, when M.Beauvais came into his chamber and told him of it. For an item of

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news like this, it strikes us it was very coolly received."In this way the journal endeavored to create the impression of

an apathy on the part of the relatives of Marie, inconsistent withthe supposition that these relatives believed the corpse to be hers.Its insinuations amount to this:–that Marie, with the connivance ofher friends, had absented herself from the city for reasons involv-ing a charge against her chastity; and that these friends, upon thediscovery of a corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of thegirl, had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress the pub-lic with the belief of her death. But L’Etoile was again over-hasty.It was distinctly proved that no apathy, such as was imagined, ex-isted; that the old lady was exceedingly feeble, and so agitated asto be unable to attend to any duty, that St. Eustache, so far from re-ceiving the news coolly, was distracted with grief, and bore himselfso frantically, that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend and relativeto take charge of him, and prevent his attending the examinationat the disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated by L’Etoile,that the corpse was re-interred at the public expense–that an advan-tageous offer of private sculpture was absolutely declined by thefamily–and that no member of the family attended the ceremonial:–although, I say, all this was asserted by L’Etoile in furtherance of theimpression it designed to convey–yet all this was satisfactorily dis-proved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an attempt was madeto throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor says:

"Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We are told that onone occasion, while a Madame B—- was at Madame Rogêt’s house,M. Beauvais, who was going out, told her that a gendarme wasexpected there, and she, Madame B., must not say anything to thegendarme until he returned, but let the matter be for him.... In thepresent posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the wholematter locked up in his head. A single step cannot be taken withoutM. Beauvais; for, go which way you will, you run against him....For some reason, he determined that nobody shall have any thingto do with the proceedings but himself, and he has elbowed themale relatives out of the way, according to their representations, ina very singular manner. He seems to have been very much averseto permitting the relatives to see the body."

By the following fact, some color was given to the suspicion thusthrown upon Beauvais. A visiter at his office, a few days prior to the

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girl’s disappearance, and during the absence of its occupant, hadobserved a rose in the key-hole of the door, and the name "Marie"inscribed upon a slate which hung near at hand.

The general impression, so far as we were enabled to glean itfrom the newspapers, seemed to be, that Marie had been the victimof a gang of desperadoes–that by these she had been borne acrossthe river, maltreated and murdered. Le Commerciel,15 however, aprint of extensive influence, was earnest in combating this popularidea. I quote a passage or two from its columns:

"We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a false scent,so far as it has been directed to the Barrière du Roule. It is im-possible that a person so well known to thousands as this youngwoman was, should have passed three blocks without some onehaving seen her; and any one who saw her would have remem-bered it, for she interested all who knew her. It was when thestreets were full of people, when she went out.... It is impossiblethat she could have gone to the Barrière du Roule, or to the Ruedes Drômes, without being recognized by a dozen persons; yet noone has come forward who saw her outside of her mother’s door,and there is no evidence, except the testimony concerning her ex-pressed intentions, that she did go out at all. Her gown was torn,bound round her, and tied; and by that the body was carried as abundle. If the murder had been committed at the Barrière du Roule,there would have been no necessity for any such arrangement. Thefact that the body was found floating near the Barrière, is no proofas to where it was thrown into the water..... A piece of one of theunfortunate girl’s petticoats, two feet long and one foot wide, wastorn out and tied under her chin around the back of her head, prob-ably to prevent screams. This was done by fellows who had nopocket-handkerchief."

A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, however, someimportant information reached the police, which seemed to over-throw, at least, the chief portion of Le Commerciel’s argument. Twosmall boys, sons of a Madame Deluc, while roaming among thewoods near the Barrière du Roule, chanced to penetrate a closethicket, within which were three or four large stones, forming akind of seat, with a back and footstool. On the upper stone lay a

15New York "Journal of Commerce."

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white petticoat; on the second a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and apocket-handkerchief were also here found. The handkerchief borethe name "Marie Rogêt." Fragments of dress were discovered on thebrambles around. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken,and there was every evidence of a struggle. Between the thicket andthe river, the fences were found taken down, and the ground boreevidence of some heavy burthen having been dragged along it.

A weekly paper, Le Soleil,16 had the following comments uponthis discovery–comments which merely echoed the sentiment ofthe whole Parisian press:

"The things had all evidently been there at least three or fourweeks; they were all mildewed down hard with the action of therain and stuck together from mildew. The grass had grown aroundand over some of them. The silk on the parasol was strong, but thethreads of it were run together within. The upper part, where it hadbeen doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore onits being opened..... The pieces of her frock torn out by the busheswere about three inches wide and six inches long. One part was thehem of the frock, and it had been mended; the other piece was partof the skirt, not the hem. They looked like strips torn off, and wereon the thorn bush, about a foot from the ground..... There can beno doubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalling outrage has beendiscovered."

Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence appeared.Madame Deluc testified that she keeps a roadside inn not far fromthe bank of the river, opposite the Barrière du Roule. The neighbor-hood is secluded–particularly so. It is the usual Sunday resort ofblackguards from the city, who cross the river in boats. About threeo’clock, in the afternoon of the Sunday in question, a young girl ar-rived at the inn, accompanied by a young man of dark complexion.The two remained here for some time. On their departure, theytook the road to some thick woods in the vicinity. Madame Deluc’sattention was called to the dress worn by the girl, on account ofits resemblance to one worn by a deceased relative. A scarf wasparticularly noticed. Soon after the departure of the couple, a gangof miscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate anddrank without making payment, followed in the route of the young

16Philadelphia "Saturday Evening Post," edited by C. I. Peterson, Esq.

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man and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and re-crossed theriver as if in great haste.

It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that MadameDeluc, as well as her eldest son, heard the screams of a female inthe vicinity of the inn. The screams were violent but brief. MadameD. recognized not only the scarf which was found in the thicket,but the dress which was discovered upon the corpse. An omnibusdriver, Valence,17 now also testified that he saw Marie Rogêt crossa ferry on the Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company witha young man of dark complexion. He, Valence, knew Marie, andcould not be mistaken in her identity. The articles found in thethicket were fully identified by the relatives of Marie.

The items of evidence and information thus collected by myself,from the newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin, embraced onlyone more point–but this was a point of seemingly vast consequence.It appears that, immediately after the discovery of the clothes asabove described, the lifeless, or nearly lifeless body of St. Eustache,Marie’s betrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now sup-posed the scene of the outrage. A phial labelled "laudanum," andemptied, was found near him. His breath gave evidence of the poi-son. He died without speaking. Upon his person was found a letter,briefly stating his love for Marie, with his design of self-destruction.

"I need scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he finished the perusalof my notes, "that this is a far more intricate case than that of theRue Morgue; from which it differs in one important respect. Thisis an ordinary, although an atrocious instance of crime. There isnothing peculiarly outré about it. You will observe that, for thisreason, the mystery has been considered easy, when, for this rea-son, it should have been considered difficult, of solution. Thus;at first, it was thought unnecessary to offer a reward. The myr-midons of G—- were able at once to comprehend how and whysuch an atrocity might have been committed. They could picture totheir imaginations a mode–many modes–and a motive–many mo-tives; and because it was not impossible that either of these nu-merous modes and motives could have been the actual one, theyhave taken it for granted that one of them must. But the case with

17Adam.

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which these variable fancies were entertained, and the very plau-sibility which each assumed, should have been understood as in-dicative rather of the difficulties than of the facilities which mustattend elucidation. I have before observed that it is by prominencesabove the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels her way, if at all,in her search for the true, and that the proper question in casessuch as this, is not so much ’what has occurred?’ as ’what has oc-curred that has never occurred before?’ In the investigations at thehouse of Madame L’Espanaye,18 the agents of G—- were discour-aged and confounded by that very unusualness which, to a prop-erly regulated intellect, would have afforded the surest omen ofsuccess; while this same intellect might have been plunged in de-spair at the ordinary character of all that met the eye in the case ofthe perfumery-girl, and yet told of nothing but easy triumph to thefunctionaries of the Prefecture.

"In the case of Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter there was,even at the beginning of our investigation, no doubt that murderhad been committed. The idea of suicide was excluded at once.Here, too, we are freed, at the commencement, from all suppositionof self-murder. The body found at the Barrière du Roule, was foundunder such circumstances as to leave us no room for embarrass-ment upon this important point. But it has been suggested that thecorpse discovered, is not that of the Marie Rogêt for the convictionof whose assassin, or assassins, the reward is offered, and respect-ing whom, solely, our agreement has been arranged with the Pre-fect. We both know this gentleman well. It will not do to trust himtoo far. If, dating our inquiries from the body found, and thencetracing a murderer, we yet discover this body to be that of someother individual than Marie; or, if starting from the living Marie,we find her, yet find her unassassinated–in either case we lose ourlabor; since it is Monsieur G—- with whom we have to deal. Forour own purpose, therefore, if not for the purpose of justice, it isindispensable that our first step should be the determination of theidentity of the corpse with the Marie Rogêt who is missing.

"With the public the arguments of L’Etoile have had weight; andthat the journal itself is convinced of their importance would ap-pear from the manner in which it commences one of its essays

18See "Murders in the Rue Morgue."

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upon the subject–’Several of the morning papers of the day,’ it says,’speak of the conclusive article in Monday’s Etoile.’ To me, this ar-ticle appears conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. Weshould bear in mind that, in general, it is the object of our newspa-pers rather to create a sensation–to make a point–than to further thecause of truth. The latter end is only pursued when it seems coinci-dent with the former. The print which merely falls in with ordinaryopinion (however well founded this opinion may be) earns for itselfno credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard as profoundonly him who suggests pungent contradictions of the general idea.In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram whichis the most immediately and the most universally appreciated. Inboth, it is of the lowest order of merit.

"What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melo-drame of the idea, that Marie Rogêt still lives, rather than any trueplausibility in this idea, which have suggested it to L’Etoile, and se-cured it a favorable reception with the public. Let us examine theheads of this journal’s argument; endeavoring to avoid the incoher-ence with which it is originally set forth.

"The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity of the in-terval between Marie’s disappearance and the finding of the float-ing corpse, that this corpse cannot be that of Marie. The reductionof this interval to its smallest possible dimension, becomes thus, atonce, an object with the reasoner. In the rash pursuit of this object,he rushes into mere assumption at the outset. ’It is folly to sup-pose,’ he says, ’that the murder, if murder was committed on herbody, could have been consummated soon enough to have enabledher murderers to throw the body into the river before midnight.’We demand at once, and very naturally, why? Why is it folly tosuppose that the murder was committed within five minutes afterthe girl’s quitting her mother’s house? Why is it folly to supposethat the murder was committed at any given period of the day?There have been assassinations at all hours. But, had the murdertaken place at any moment between nine o’clock in the morning ofSunday, and a quarter before midnight, there would still have beentime enough ’to throw the body into the river before midnight.’This assumption, then, amounts precisely to this–that the murderwas not committed on Sunday at all–and, if we allow L’Etoile to as-sume this, we may permit it any liberties whatever. The paragraph

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beginning ’It is folly to suppose that the murder, etc.,’ however itappears as printed in L’Etoile, may be imagined to have existed ac-tually thus in the brain of its inditer–’It is folly to suppose that themurder, if murder was committed on the body, could have beencommitted soon enough to have enabled her murderers to throwthe body into the river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to sup-pose all this, and to suppose at the same time, (as we are resolvedto suppose,) that the body was not thrown in until after midnight’–a sentence sufficiently inconsequential in itself, but not so utterlypreposterous as the one printed.

"Were it my purpose," continued Dupin, "merely to make out a caseagainst this passage of L’Etoile’s argument, I might safely leave itwhere it is. It is not, however, with L’Etoile that we have to do, butwith the truth. The sentence in question has but one meaning, asit stands; and this meaning I have fairly stated: but it is materialthat we go behind the mere words, for an idea which these wordshave obviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the designof the journalist to say that, at whatever period of the day or nightof Sunday this murder was committed, it was improbable that theassassins would have ventured to bear the corpse to the river be-fore midnight. And herein lies, really, the assumption of which Icomplain. It is assumed that the murder was committed at such aposition, and under such circumstances, that the bearing it to theriver became necessary. Now, the assassination might have takenplace upon the river’s brink, or on the river itself; and, thus, thethrowing the corpse in the water might have been resorted to, atany period of the day or night, as the most obvious and most imme-diate mode of disposal. You will understand that I suggest nothinghere as probable, or as cöincident with my own opinion. My de-sign, so far, has no reference to the facts of the case. I wish merelyto caution you against the whole tone of L’Etoile’s suggestion, bycalling your attention to its ex parte character at the outset.

"Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own preconceived no-tions; having assumed that, if this were the body of Marie, it couldhave been in the water but a very brief time; the journal goes on tosay:

’All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodiesthrown into the water immediately after death by violence, requirefrom six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to

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bring them to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is firedover a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days’ immer-sion, it sinks again if let alone.’

"These assertions have been tacitly received by every paper inParis, with the exception of Le Moniteur.19 This latter print endeav-ors to combat that portion of the paragraph which has reference to’drowned bodies’ only, by citing some five or six instances in whichthe bodies of individuals known to be drowned were found float-ing after the lapse of less time than is insisted upon by L’Etoile.But there is something excessively unphilosophical in the attempton the part of Le Moniteur, to rebut the general assertion of L’Etoile,by a citation of particular instances militating against that assertion.Had it been possible to adduce fifty instead of five examples of bod-ies found floating at the end of two or three days, these fifty exam-ples could still have been properly regarded only as exceptions toL’Etoile’s rule, until such time as the rule itself should be confuted.Admitting the rule, (and this Le Moniteur does not deny, insistingmerely upon its exceptions,) the argument of L’Etoile is suffered toremain in full force; for this argument does not pretend to involvemore than a question of the probability of the body having risen tothe surface in less than three days; and this probability will be in fa-vor of L’Etoile’s position until the instances so childishly adducedshall be sufficient in number to establish an antagonistical rule.

"You will see at once that all argument upon this head should beurged, if at all, against the rule itself; and for this end we must ex-amine the rationale of the rule. Now the human body, in general, isneither much lighter nor much heavier than the water of the Seine;that is to say, the specific gravity of the human body, in its naturalcondition, is about equal to the bulk of fresh water which it dis-places. The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones, andof women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and large-boned, and of men; and the specific gravity of the water of a riveris somewhat influenced by the presence of the tide from sea. But,leaving this tide out of question, it may be said that very few hu-man bodies will sink at all, even in fresh water, of their own accord.Almost any one, falling into a river, will be enabled to float, if hesuffer the specific gravity of the water fairly to be adduced in com-

19The New York "Commercial Advertiser," edited by Col. Stone.

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parison with his own–that is to say, if he suffer his whole personto be immersed, with as little exception as possible. The properposition for one who cannot swim, is the upright position of thewalker on land, with the head thrown fully back, and immersed;the mouth and nostrils alone remaining above the surface. Thuscircumstanced, we shall find that we float without difficulty andwithout exertion. It is evident, however, that the gravities of thebody, and of the bulk of water displaced, are very nicely balanced,and that a trifle will cause either to preponderate. An arm, for in-stance, uplifted from the water, and thus deprived of its support,is an additional weight sufficient to immerse the whole head, whilethe accidental aid of the smallest piece of timber will enable us to el-evate the head so as to look about. Now, in the struggles of one un-used to swimming, the arms are invariably thrown upwards, whilean attempt is made to keep the head in its usual perpendicular po-sition. The result is the immersion of the mouth and nostrils, andthe inception, during efforts to breathe while beneath the surface,of water into the lungs. Much is also received into the stomach,and the whole body becomes heavier by the difference between theweight of the air originally distending these cavities, and that of thefluid which now fills them. This difference is sufficient to cause thebody to sink, as a general rule; but is insufficient in the cases of in-dividuals with small bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid orfatty matter. Such individuals float even after drowning.

"The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river, will thereremain until, by some means, its specific gravity again becomesless than that of the bulk of water which it displaces. This effectis brought about by decomposition, or otherwise. The result ofdecomposition is the generation of gas, distending the cellular tis-sues and all the cavities, and giving the puffed appearance whichis so horrible. When this distension has so far progressed that thebulk of the corpse is materially increased without a correspond-ing increase of mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes lessthan that of the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appear-ance at the surface. But decomposition is modified by innumerablecircumstances–is hastened or retarded by innumerable agencies;for example, by the heat or cold of the season, by the mineral im-pregnation or purity of the water, by its depth or shallowness, by itscurrency or stagnation, by the temperament of the body, by its in-

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fection or freedom from disease before death. Thus it is evident thatwe can assign no period, with any thing like accuracy, at which thecorpse shall rise through decomposition. Under certain conditionsthis result would be brought about within an hour; under others, itmight not take place at all. There are chemical infusions by whichthe animal frame can be preserved forever from corruption; the Bi-chloride of Mercury is one. But, apart from decomposition, theremay be, and very usually is, a generation of gas within the stom-ach, from the acetous fermentation of vegetable matter (or withinother cavities from other causes) sufficient to induce a distensionwhich will bring the body to the surface. The effect produced bythe firing of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This may eitherloosen the corpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is imbed-ded, thus permitting it to rise when other agencies have alreadyprepared it for so doing; or it may overcome the tenacity of someputrescent portions of the cellular tissue; allowing the cavities todistend under the influence of the gas.

"Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this subject,we can easily test by it the assertions of L’Etoile. ’All experienceshows,’ says this paper, ’that drowned bodies, or bodies throwninto the water immediately after death by violence, require fromsix to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to bringthem to the top of the water. Even when a cannon is fired over acorpse, and it rises before at least five or six days’ immersion, itsinks again if let alone.’

"The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue of in-consequence and incoherence. All experience does not show that’drowned bodies’ require from six to ten days for sufficient decom-position to take place to bring them to the surface. Both scienceand experience show that the period of their rising is, and neces-sarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a body has risen tothe surface through firing of cannon, it will not ’sink again if letalone,’ until decomposition has so far progressed as to permit theescape of the generated gas. But I wish to call your attention to thedistinction which is made between ’drowned bodies,’ and ’bodiesthrown into the water immediately after death by violence.’ Al-though the writer admits the distinction, he yet includes them allin the same category. I have shown how it is that the body of adrowning man becomes specifically heavier than its bulk of water,

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and that he would not sink at all, except for the struggles by whichhe elevates his arms above the surface, and his gasps for breathwhile beneath the surface–gasps which supply by water the placeof the original air in the lungs. But these struggles and these gaspswould not occur in the body ’thrown into the water immediatelyafter death by violence.’ Thus, in the latter instance, the body, asa general rule, would not sink at all–a fact of which L’Etoile is ev-idently ignorant. When decomposition had proceeded to a verygreat extent–when the flesh had in a great measure left the bones–then, indeed, but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.

"And now what are we to make of the argument, that the bodyfound could not be that of Marie Rogêt, because, three days onlyhaving elapsed, this body was found floating? If drowned, beinga woman, she might never have sunk; or having sunk, might havereappeared in twenty-four hours, or less. But no one supposes herto have been drowned; and, dying before being thrown into theriver, she might have been found floating at any period afterwardswhatever.

"’But,’ says L’Etoile, ’if the body had been kept in its mangledstate on shore until Tuesday night, some trace would be found onshore of the murderers.’ Here it is at first difficult to perceive theintention of the reasoner. He means to anticipate what he imagineswould be an objection to his theory–viz: that the body was kepton shore two days, suffering rapid decomposition–more rapid thanif immersed in water. He supposes that, had this been the case, itmight have appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinksthat only under such circumstances it could so have appeared. He isaccordingly in haste to show that it was not kept on shore; for, if so,’some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.’ I presumeyou smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see how the mereduration of the corpse on the shore could operate to multiply tracesof the assassins. Nor can I.

"’And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,’ continues ourjournal, ’that any villains who had committed such a murder as ishere supposed, would have thrown the body in without weight tosink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been taken.’Observe, here, the laughable confusion of thought! No one–noteven L’Etoile–disputes the murder committed on the body found. Themarks of violence are too obvious. It is our reasoner’s object merely

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to show that this body is not Marie’s. He wishes to prove that Marieis not assassinated–not that the corpse was not. Yet his observationproves only the latter point. Here is a corpse without weight at-tached. Murderers, casting it in, would not have failed to attacha weight. Therefore it was not thrown in by murderers. This is allwhich is proved, if any thing is. The question of identity is not evenapproached, and L’Etoile has been at great pains merely to gainsaynow what it has admitted only a moment before. ’We are perfectlyconvinced,’ it says, ’that the body found was that of a murderedfemale.’

"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of his subject,where our reasoner unwittingly reasons against himself. His evi-dent object, I have already said, is to reduce, as much as possible,the interval between Marie’s disappearance and the finding of thecorpse. Yet we find him urging the point that no person saw thegirl from the moment of her leaving her mother’s house. ’We haveno evidence,’ he says, ’that Marie Rogêt was in the land of the liv-ing after nine o’clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.’ As hisargument is obviously an ex parte one, he should, at least, have leftthis matter out of sight; for had any one been known to see Marie,say on Monday, or on Tuesday, the interval in question would havebeen much reduced, and, by his own ratiocination, the probabilitymuch diminished of the corpse being that of the grisette. It is, nev-ertheless, amusing to observe that L’Etoile insists upon its point inthe full belief of its furthering its general argument.

"Reperuse now that portion of this argument which has referenceto the identification of the corpse by Beauvais. In regard to the hairupon the arm, L’Etoile has been obviously disingenuous. M. Beau-vais, not being an idiot, could never have urged, in identification ofthe corpse, simply hair upon its arm. No arm is without hair. Thegenerality of the expression of L’Etoile is a mere perversion of thewitness’ phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity inthis hair. It must have been a peculiarity of color, of quantity, oflength, or of situation.

"’Her foot,’ says the journal, ’was small–so are thousands of feet.Her garter is no proof whatever–nor is her shoe–for shoes andgarters are sold in packages. The same may be said of the flowers inher hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais strongly insists is, thatthe clasp on the garter found, had been set back to take it in. This

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amounts to nothing; for most women find it proper to take a pair ofgarters home and fit them to the size of the limbs they are to encir-cle, rather than to try them in the store where they purchase.’ Hereit is difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest. Had M. Beauvais, inhis search for the body of Marie, discovered a corpse correspondingin general size and appearance to the missing girl, he would havebeen warranted (without reference to the question of habiliment atall) in forming an opinion that his search had been successful. If,in addition to the point of general size and contour, he had foundupon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had observedupon the living Marie, his opinion might have been justly strength-ened; and the increase of positiveness might well have been in theratio of the peculiarity, or unusualness, of the hairy mark. If, thefeet of Marie being small, those of the corpse were also small, theincrease of probability that the body was that of Marie would notbe an increase in a ratio merely arithmetical, but in one highly ge-ometrical, or accumulative. Add to all this shoes such as she hadbeen known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and, al-though these shoes may be ’sold in packages,’ you so far augmentthe probability as to verge upon the certain. What, of itself, wouldbe no evidence of identity, becomes through its corroborative posi-tion, proof most sure. Give us, then, flowers in the hat correspond-ing to those worn by the missing girl, and we seek for nothing far-ther. If only one flower, we seek for nothing farther–what then iftwo or three, or more? Each successive one is multiple evidence–proof not added to proof, but multiplied by hundreds or thousands.Let us now discover, upon the deceased, garters such as the livingused, and it is almost folly to proceed. But these garters are foundto be tightened, by the setting back of a clasp, in just such a man-ner as her own had been tightened by Marie, shortly previous toher leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to doubt. WhatL’Etoile says in respect to this abbreviation of the garter’s being anusual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its own pertinacity in er-ror. The elastic nature of the clasp-garter is self-demonstration ofthe unusualness of the abbreviation. What is made to adjust itself,must of necessity require foreign adjustment but rarely. It musthave been by an accident, in its strictest sense, that these gartersof Marie needed the tightening described. They alone would haveamply established her identity. But it is not that the corpse was

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found to have the garters of the missing girl, or found to have hershoes, or her bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet, or her feet, or apeculiar mark upon the arm, or her general size and appearance–itis that the corpse had each, and all collectively. Could it be provedthat the editor of L’Etoile really entertained a doubt, under the cir-cumstances, there would be no need, in his case, of a commissionde lunatico inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to echo thesmall talk of the lawyers, who, for the most part, content them-selves with echoing the rectangular precepts of the courts. I wouldhere observe that very much of what is rejected as evidence by acourt, is the best of evidence to the intellect. For the court, guid-ing itself by the general principles of evidence–the recognized andbooked principles–is averse from swerving at particular instances.And this steadfast adherence to principle, with rigorous disregardof the conflicting exception, is a sure mode of attaining the maxi-mum of attainable truth, in any long sequence of time. The practice,in mass, is therefore philosophical; but it is not the less certain thatit engenders vast individual error.20

"In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais, you will bewilling to dismiss them in a breath. You have already fathomedthe true character of this good gentleman. He is a busy-body, withmuch of romance and little of wit. Any one so constituted will read-ily so conduct himself, upon occasion of real excitement, as to ren-der himself liable to suspicion on the part of the over acute, or theill-disposed. M. Beauvais (as it appears from your notes) had somepersonal interviews with the editor of L’Etoile, and offended him byventuring an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding the theory ofthe editor, was, in sober fact, that of Marie. ’He persists,’ says thepaper, ’in asserting the corpse to be that of Marie, but cannot givea circumstance, in addition to those which we have commentedupon, to make others believe.’ Now, without re-adverting to the

20"A theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its being un-folded according to its objects; and he who arranges topics in reference to theircauses, will cease to value them according to their results. Thus the jurispru-dence of every nation will show that, when law becomes a science and a system,it ceases to be justice. The errors into which a blind devotion to principles ofclassification has led the common law, will be seen by observing how often thelegislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the equity its schemehad lost."—Landor.

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fact that stronger evidence ’to make others believe,’ could neverhave been adduced, it may be remarked that a man may very wellbe understood to believe, in a case of this kind, without the abilityto advance a single reason for the belief of a second party. Nothingis more vague than impressions of individual identity. Each manrecognizes his neighbor, yet there are few instances in which anyone is prepared to give a reason for his recognition. The editor ofL’Etoile had no right to be offended at M. Beauvais’ unreasoningbelief.

"The suspicious circumstances which invest him, will be found totally much better with my hypothesis of romantic busy-bodyism,than with the reasoner’s suggestion of guilt. Once adopting themore charitable interpretation, we shall find no difficulty in com-prehending the rose in the key-hole; the ’Marie’ upon the slate; the’elbowing the male relatives out of the way;’ the ’aversion to per-mitting them to see the body;’ the caution given to Madame B—-,that she must hold no conversation with the gendarme until hisreturn (Beauvais’); and, lastly, his apparent determination ’that no-body should have anything to do with the proceedings except him-self.’ It seems to me unquestionable that Beauvais was a suitor ofMarie’s; that she coquetted with him; and that he was ambitiousof being thought to enjoy her fullest intimacy and confidence. Ishall say nothing more upon this point; and, as the evidence fullyrebuts the assertion of L’Etoile, touching the matter of apathy onthe part of the mother and other relatives–an apathy inconsistentwith the supposition of their believing the corpse to be that of theperfumery-girl–we shall now proceed as if the question of identitywere settled to our perfect satisfaction."

"And what," I here demanded, "do you think of the opinions ofLe Commerciel?"

"That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of attention than anywhich have been promulgated upon the subject. The deductionsfrom the premises are philosophical and acute; but the premises,in two instances, at least, are founded in imperfect observation. LeCommerciel wishes to intimate that Marie was seized by some gangof low ruffians not far from her mother’s door. ’It is impossible,’it urges, ’that a person so well known to thousands as this youngwoman was, should have passed three blocks without some onehaving seen her.’ This is the idea of a man long resident in Paris–a

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public man–and one whose walks to and fro in the city, have beenmostly limited to the vicinity of the public offices. He is aware thathe seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own bureau,without being recognized and accosted. And, knowing the extentof his personal acquaintance with others, and of others with him,he compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery-girl, finds nogreat difference between them, and reaches at once the conclusionthat she, in her walks, would be equally liable to recognition withhimself in his. This could only be the case were her walks of thesame unvarying, methodical character, and within the same speciesof limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular in-tervals, within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals whoare led to observation of his person through interest in the kindrednature of his occupation with their own. But the walks of Mariemay, in general, be supposed discursive. In this particular instance,it will be understood as most probable, that she proceeded upona route of more than average diversity from her accustomed ones.The parallel which we imagine to have existed in the mind of LeCommerciel would only be sustained in the event of the two indi-viduals’ traversing the whole city. In this case, granting the per-sonal acquaintances to be equal, the chances would be also equalthat an equal number of personal rencounters would be made. Formy own part, I should hold it not only as possible, but as very farmore than probable, that Marie might have proceeded, at any givenperiod, by any one of the many routes between her own residenceand that of her aunt, without meeting a single individual whomshe knew, or by whom she was known. In viewing this questionin its full and proper light, we must hold steadily in mind the greatdisproportion between the personal acquaintances of even the mostnoted individual in Paris, and the entire population of Paris itself.

"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the sugges-tion of Le Commerciel, will be much diminished when we take intoconsideration the hour at which the girl went abroad. ’It was whenthe streets were full of people,’ says Le Commerciel, ’that she wentout.’ But not so. It was at nine o’clock in the morning. Now atnine o’clock of every morning in the week, with the exception of Sun-day, the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people. Atnine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doors preparing forchurch. No observing person can have failed to notice the peculiarly

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deserted air of the town, from about eight until ten on the morningof every Sabbath. Between ten and eleven the streets are thronged,but not at so early a period as that designated.

"There is another point at which there seems a deficiency of ob-servation on the part of Le Commerciel. ’A piece,’ it says, ’of one ofthe unfortunate girl’s petticoats, two feet long, and one foot wide,was torn out and tied under her chin, and around the back of herhead, probably to prevent screams. This was done, by fellows whohad no pocket-handkerchiefs.’ Whether this idea is, or is not wellfounded, we will endeavor to see hereafter; but by ’fellows whohave no pocket-handkerchiefs’ the editor intends the lowest classof ruffians. These, however, are the very description of people whowill always be found to have handkerchiefs even when destitute ofshirts. You must have had occasion to observe how absolutely in-dispensable, of late years, to the thorough blackguard, has becomethe pocket-handkerchief."

"And what are we to think," I asked, "of the article in Le Soleil?"

"That it is a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot–in whichcase he would have been the most illustrious parrot of his race. Hehas merely repeated the individual items of the already publishedopinion; collecting them, with a laudable industry, from this pa-per and from that. ’The things had all evidently been there,’ hesays,’at least, three or four weeks, and there can be no doubt that thespot of this appalling outrage has been discovered.’ The facts herere-stated by Le Soleil, are very far indeed from removing my owndoubts upon this subject, and we will examine them more particu-larly hereafter in connexion with another division of the theme.

"At present we must occupy ourselves with other investigations.You cannot fail to have remarked the extreme laxity of the examina-tion of the corpse. To be sure, the question of identity was readilydetermined, or should have been; but there were other points tobe ascertained. Had the body been in any respect despoiled? Hadthe deceased any articles of jewelry about her person upon leav-ing home? if so, had she any when found? These are importantquestions utterly untouched by the evidence; and there are othersof equal moment, which have met with no attention. We must en-deavor to satisfy ourselves by personal inquiry. The case of St. Eu-stache must be re-examined. I have no suspicion of this person; but

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let us proceed methodically. We will ascertain beyond a doubt thevalidity of the affidavits in regard to his whereabouts on the Sun-day. Affidavits of this character are readily made matter of mys-tification. Should there be nothing wrong here, however, we willdismiss St. Eustache from our investigations. His suicide, how-ever corroborative of suspicion, were there found to be deceit inthe affidavits, is, without such deceit, in no respect an unaccount-able circumstance, or one which need cause us to deflect from theline of ordinary analysis.

"In that which I now propose, we will discard the interior pointsof this tragedy, and concentrate our attention upon its outskirts.Not the least usual error, in investigations such as this, is the lim-iting of inquiry to the immediate, with total disregard of the col-lateral or circumstantial events. It is the mal-practice of the courtsto confine evidence and discussion to the bounds of apparent rele-vancy. Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will alwaysshow, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of truth, arises fromthe seemingly irrelevant. It is through the spirit of this principle,if not precisely through its letter, that modern science has resolvedto calculate upon the unforeseen. But perhaps you do not com-prehend me. The history of human knowledge has so uninterrupt-edly shown that to collateral, or incidental, or accidental events weare indebted for the most numerous and most valuable discoveries,that it has at length become necessary, in any prospective view ofimprovement, to make not only large, but the largest allowancesfor inventions that shall arise by chance, and quite out of the rangeof ordinary expectation. It is no longer philosophical to base, uponwhat has been, a vision of what is to be. Accident is admitted as aportion of the substructure. We make chance a matter of absolutecalculation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined, to themathematical formulae of the schools.

"I repeat that it is no more than fact, that the larger portion ofall truth has sprung from the collateral; and it is but in accordancewith the spirit of the principle involved in this fact, that I woulddivert inquiry, in the present case, from the trodden and hithertounfruitful ground of the event itself, to the contemporary circum-stances which surround it. While you ascertain the validity of theaffidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than youhave as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred the field of

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investigation; but it will be strange indeed if a comprehensive sur-vey, such as I propose, of the public prints, will not afford us someminute points which shall establish a direction for inquiry."

In pursuance of Dupin’s suggestion, I made scrupulous examina-tion of the affair of the affidavits. The result was a firm convictionof their validity, and of the consequent innocence of St. Eustache.In the mean time my friend occupied himself, with what seemedto me a minuteness altogether objectless, in a scrutiny of the vari-ous newspaper files. At the end of a week he placed before me thefollowing extracts:

"About three years and a half ago, a disturbance very similar tothe present, was caused by the disappearance of this same MarieRogêt, from the parfumerie of Monsieur Le Blanc, in the PalaisRoyal. At the end of a week, however, she re-appeared at her cus-tomary comptoir, as well as ever, with the exception of a slight pale-ness not altogether usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blancand her mother, that she had merely been on a visit to some friendin the country; and the affair was speedily hushed up. We presumethat the present absence is a freak of the same nature, and that, atthe expiration of a week, or perhaps of a month, we shall have heramong us again."–Evening Paper–Monday June 23.21

"An evening journal of yesterday, refers to a former mysteriousdisappearance of Mademoiselle Rogêt. It is well known that, dur-ing the week of her absence from Le Blanc’s parfumerie, she wasin the company of a young naval officer, much noted for his de-baucheries. A quarrel, it is supposed, providentially led to her re-turn home. We have the name of the Lothario in question, who is,at present, stationed in Paris, but, for obvious reasons, forbear tomake it public."–Le Mercurie–Tuesday Morning, June 24.22

"An outrage of the most atrocious character was perpetrated nearthis city the day before yesterday. A gentleman, with his wife anddaughter, engaged, about dusk, the services of six young men, whowere idly rowing a boat to and fro near the banks of the Seine, toconvey him across the river. Upon reaching the opposite shore, thethree passengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to be

21New York "Express"22New York "Herald."

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beyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discovered thatshe had left in it her parasol. She returned for it, was seized bythe gang, carried out into the stream, gagged, brutally treated, andfinally taken to the shore at a point not far from that at which shehad originally entered the boat with her parents. The villains haveescaped for the time, but the police are upon their trail, and someof them will soon be taken."–Morning Paper–June 25.23

"We have received one or two communications, the object ofwhich is to fasten the crime of the late atrocity upon Mennais;24but as this gentleman has been fully exonerated by a loyal inquiry,and as the arguments of our several correspondents appear to bemore zealous than profound, we do not think it advisable to makethem public."–Morning Paper–June 28.25

"We have received several forcibly written communications, ap-parently from various sources, and which go far to render it a mat-ter of certainty that the unfortunate Marie Rogêt has become a vic-tim of one of the numerous bands of blackguards which infest thevicinity of the city upon Sunday. Our own opinion is decidedly infavor of this supposition. We shall endeavor to make room for someof these arguments hereafter."–Evening Paper–Tuesday, June 31.26

"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with the revenueservice, saw a empty boat floating down the Seine. Sails were ly-ing in the bottom of the boat. The bargeman towed it under thebarge office. The next morning it was taken from thence, withoutthe knowledge of any of the officers. The rudder is now at the bargeoffice."–Le Diligence–Thursday, June 26.

Upon reading these various extracts, they not only seemed to meirrelevant, but I could perceive no mode in which any one of themcould be brought to bear upon the matter in hand. I waited forsome explanation from Dupin.

"It is not my present design," he said, "to dwell upon the first andsecond of those extracts. I have copied them chiefly to show you

23New York "Courier and Inquirer."24Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and arrested, but dis-

charged through total lack of evidence.25New York "Courier and Inquirer."26New York "Evening Post."

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the extreme remissness of the police, who, as far as I can understandfrom the Prefect, have not troubled themselves, in any respect, withan examination of the naval officer alluded to. Yet it is mere folly tosay that between the first and second disappearance of Marie, thereis no supposable connection. Let us admit the first elopement to haveresulted in a quarrel between the lovers, and the return home of thebetrayed. We are now prepared to view a second elopement (if weknow that an elopement has again taken place) as indicating a re-newal of the betrayer’s advances, rather than as the result of newproposals by a second individual–we are prepared to regard it asa ’making up’ of the old amour, rather than as the commencementof a new one. The chances are ten to one, that he who had onceeloped with Marie, would again propose an elopement, rather thanthat she to whom proposals of elopement had been made by oneindividual, should have them made to her by another. And herelet me call your attention to the fact, that the time elapsing betweenthe first ascertained, and the second supposed elopement, is a fewmonths more than the general period of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had the lover been interrupted in his first villany by the neces-sity of departure to sea, and had he seized the first moment of hisreturn to renew the base designs not yet altogether accomplished–or not yet altogether accomplished by him? Of all these things weknow nothing.

"You will say, however, that, in the second instance, there was noelopement as imagined. Certainly not–but are we prepared to saythat there was not the frustrated design? Beyond St. Eustache, andperhaps Beauvais, we find no recognized, no open, no honorablesuitors of Marie. Of none other is there any thing said. Who, then, isthe secret lover, of whom the relatives (at least most of them) knownothing, but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sunday, andwho is so deeply in her confidence, that she hesitates not to remainwith him until the shades of the evening descend, amid the solitarygroves of the Barrière du Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask,of whom, at least, most of the relatives know nothing? And whatmeans the singular prophecy of Madame Rogêt on the morning ofMarie’s departure?–’I fear that I shall never see Marie again.’

"But if we cannot imagine Madame Rogêt privy to the design ofelopement, may we not at least suppose this design entertained bythe girl? Upon quitting home, she gave it to be understood that

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she was about to visit her aunt in the Rue des Drômes and St. Eu-stache was requested to call for her at dark. Now, at first glance,this fact strongly militates against my suggestion;–but let us reflect.That she did meet some companion, and proceed with him acrossthe river, reaching the Barrière du Roule at so late an hour as threeo’clock in the afternoon, is known. But in consenting so to accom-pany this individual, (for whatever purpose–to her mother known orunknown,) she must have thought of her expressed intention whenleaving home, and of the surprise and suspicion aroused in the bo-som of her affianced suitor, St. Eustache, when, calling for her, atthe hour appointed, in the Rue des Drômes, he should find thatshe had not been there, and when, moreover, upon returning to thepension with this alarming intelligence, he should become awareof her continued absence from home. She must have thought ofthese things, I say. She must have foreseen the chagrin of St. Eu-stache, the suspicion of all. She could not have thought of returningto brave this suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a point of trivialimportance to her, if we suppose her not intending to return.

"We may imagine her thinking thus–’I am to meet a certain per-son for the purpose of elopement, or for certain other purposesknown only to myself. It is necessary that there be no chanceof interruption–there must be sufficient time given us to eludepursuit–I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and spendthe day with my aunt at the Rue des Drômes–I well tell St. Eustachenot to call for me until dark–in this way, my absence from home forthe longest possible period, without causing suspicion or anxiety,will be accounted for, and I shall gain more time than in any othermanner. If I bid St. Eustache call for me at dark, he will be surenot to call before; but, if I wholly neglect to bid him call, my timefor escape will be diminished, since it will be expected that I returnthe earlier, and my absence will the sooner excite anxiety. Now, if itwere my design to return at all–if I had in contemplation merely astroll with the individual in question–it would not be my policy tobid St. Eustache call; for, calling, he will be sure to ascertain that Ihave played him false–a fact of which I might keep him for ever inignorance, by leaving home without notifying him of my intention,by returning before dark, and by then stating that I had been tovisit my aunt in the Rue des Drômes. But, as it is my design neverto return–or not for some weeks–or not until certain concealments

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are effected–the gaining of time is the only point about which I needgive myself any concern.’

"You have observed, in your notes, that the most general opin-ion in relation to this sad affair is, and was from the first, that thegirl had been the victim of a gang of blackguards. Now, the pop-ular opinion, under certain conditions, is not to be disregarded.When arising of itself–when manifesting itself in a strictly spon-taneous manner–we should look upon it as analogous with that in-tuition which is the idiosyncrasy of the individual man of genius. Inninety-nine cases from the hundred I would abide by its decision.But it is important that we find no palpable traces of suggestion. Theopinion must be rigorously the public’s own; and the distinction is of-ten exceedingly difficult to perceive and to maintain. In the presentinstance, it appears to me that this ’public opinion’ in respect to agang, has been superinduced by the collateral event which is de-tailed in the third of my extracts. All Paris is excited by the discov-ered corpse of Marie, a girl young, beautiful and notorious. Thiscorpse is found, bearing marks of violence, and floating in the river.But it is now made known that, at the very period, or about the veryperiod, in which it is supposed that the girl was assassinated, anoutrage similar in nature to that endured by the deceased, althoughless in extent, was perpetuated, by a gang of young ruffians, uponthe person of a second young female. Is it wonderful that the oneknown atrocity should influence the popular judgment in regardto the other unknown? This judgment awaited direction, and theknown outrage seemed so opportunely to afford it! Marie, too, wasfound in the river; and upon this very river was this known out-rage committed. The connexion of the two events had about it somuch of the palpable, that the true wonder would have been a fail-ure of the populace to appreciate and to seize it. But, in fact, theone atrocity, known to be so committed, is, if any thing, evidencethat the other, committed at a time nearly coincident, was not socommitted. It would have been a miracle indeed, if, while a gangof ruffians were perpetrating, at a given locality, a most unheard-ofwrong, there should have been another similar gang, in a similarlocality, in the same city, under the same circumstances, with thesame means and appliances, engaged in a wrong of precisely thesame aspect, at precisely the same period of time! Yet in what, ifnot in this marvellous train of coincidence, does the accidentally

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suggested opinion of the populace call upon us to believe?"Before proceeding farther, let us consider the supposed scene

of the assassination, in the thicket at the Barrière du Roule. Thisthicket, although dense, was in the close vicinity of a public road.Within were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat with aback and footstool. On the upper stone was discovered a white pet-ticoat; on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief, were also here found. The handkerchief bore thename, ’Marie Rogêt.’ Fragments of dress were seen on the branchesaround. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken, and therewas every evidence of a violent struggle.

"Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the discovery ofthis thicket was received by the press, and the unanimity withwhich it was supposed to indicate the precise scene of the out-rage, it must be admitted that there was some very good reasonfor doubt. That it was the scene, I may or I may not believe–butthere was excellent reason for doubt. Had the true scene been, asLe Commerciel suggested, in the neighborhood of the Rue Pavée St.Andrée, the perpetrators of the crime, supposing them still residentin Paris, would naturally have been stricken with terror at the pub-lic attention thus acutely directed into the proper channel; and, incertain classes of minds, there would have arisen, at once, a sense ofthe necessity of some exertion to redivert this attention. And thus,the thicket of the Barrière du Roule having been already suspected,the idea of placing the articles where they were found, might havebeen naturally entertained. There is no real evidence, although LeSoleil so supposes, that the articles discovered had been more thana very few days in the thicket; while there is much circumstantialproof that they could not have remained there, without attractingattention, during the twenty days elapsing between the fatal Sun-day and the afternoon upon which they were found by the boys.’They were all mildewed down hard,’ says Le Soleil, adopting theopinions of its predecessors, ’with the action of the rain, and stucktogether from mildew. The grass had grown around and over someof them. The silk of the parasol was strong, but the threads of itwere run together within. The upper part, where it had been dou-bled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on beingopened.’ In respect to the grass having ’grown around and oversome of them,’ it is obvious that the fact could only have been as-

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certained from the words, and thus from the recollections, of twosmall boys; for these boys removed the articles and took them homebefore they had been seen by a third party. But grass will grow, es-pecially in warm and damp weather, (such as was that of the periodof the murder,) as much as two or three inches in a single day. Aparasol lying upon a newly turfed ground, might, in a single week,be entirely concealed from sight by the upspringing grass. Andtouching that mildew upon which the editor of Le Soleil so pertina-ciously insists, that he employs the word no less than three times inthe brief paragraph just quoted, is he really unaware of the natureof this mildew? Is he to be told that it is one of the many classes offungus, of which the most ordinary feature is its upspringing anddecadence within twenty-four hours?

"Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been most triumphantlyadduced in support of the idea that the articles had been ’for at leastthree or four weeks’ in the thicket, is most absurdly null as regardsany evidence of that fact. On the other hand, it is exceedingly diffi-cult to believe that these articles could have remained in the thicketspecified, for a longer period than a single week–for a longer periodthan from one Sunday to the next. Those who know any thing ofthe vicinity of Paris, know the extreme difficulty of finding seclu-sion unless at a great distance from its suburbs. Such a thing as anunexplored, or even an unfrequently visited recess, amid its woodsor groves, is not for a moment to be imagined. Let any one who, be-ing at heart a lover of nature, is yet chained by duty to the dust andheat of this great metropolis–let any such one attempt, even dur-ing the weekdays, to slake his thirst for solitude amid the scenes ofnatural loveliness which immediately surround us. At every sec-ond step, he will find the growing charm dispelled by the voiceand personal intrusion of some ruffian or party of carousing black-guards. He will seek privacy amid the densest foliage, all in vain.Here are the very nooks where the unwashed most abound–hereare the temples most desecrate. With sickness of the heart the wan-derer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a less odious becauseless incongruous sink of pollution. But if the vicinity of the city is sobeset during the working days of the week, how much more so onthe Sabbath! It is now especially that, released from the claims of la-bor, or deprived of the customary opportunities of crime, the townblackguard seeks the precincts of the town, not through love of the

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rural, which in his heart he despises, but by way of escape from therestraints and conventionalities of society. He desires less the freshair and the green trees, than the utter license of the country. Here, atthe road-side inn, or beneath the foliage of the woods, he indulges,unchecked by any eye except those of his boon companions, in allthe mad excess of a counterfeit hilarity–the joint offspring of libertyand of rum. I say nothing more than what must be obvious to ev-ery dispassionate observer, when I repeat that the circumstance ofthe articles in question having remained undiscovered, for a longerperiod–than from one Sunday to another, in any thicket in the im-mediate neighborhood of Paris, is to be looked upon as little lessthan miraculous.

"But there are not wanting other grounds for the suspicion thatthe articles were placed in the thicket with the view of diverting at-tention from the real scene of the outrage. And, first, let me directyour notice to the date of the discovery of the articles. Collate thiswith the date of the fifth extract made by myself from the news-papers. You will find that the discovery followed, almost immedi-ately, the urgent communications sent to the evening paper. Thesecommunications, although various and apparently from varioussources, tended all to the same point–viz., the directing of attentionto a gang as the perpetrators of the outrage, and to the neighbor-hood of the Barrière du Roule as its scene. Now here, of course, thesuspicion is not that, in consequence of these communications, orof the public attention by them directed, the articles were found bythe boys; but the suspicion might and may well have been, that thearticles were not before found by the boys, for the reason that thearticles had not before been in the thicket; having been depositedthere only at so late a period as at the date, or shortly prior to thedate of the communications by the guilty authors of these commu-nications themselves.

"This thicket was a singular–an exceedingly singular one. It wasunusually dense. Within its naturally walled enclosure were threeextraordinary stones, forming a seat with a back and footstool. Andthis thicket, so full of a natural art, was in the immediate vicinity,within a few rods, of the dwelling of Madame Deluc, whose boyswere in the habit of closely examining the shrubberies about themin search of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager–a wager of one thousand to one–that a day never passed over the

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heads of these boys without finding at least one of them ensconcedin the umbrageous hall, and enthroned upon its natural throne?Those who would hesitate at such a wager, have either never beenboys themselves, or have forgotten the boyish nature. I repeat–itis exceedingly hard to comprehend how the articles could have re-mained in this thicket undiscovered, for a longer period than oneor two days; and that thus there is good ground for suspicion, inspite of the dogmatic ignorance of Le Soleil, that they were, at acomparatively late date, deposited where found.

"But there are still other and stronger reasons for believing themso deposited, than any which I have as yet urged. And, now, letme beg your notice to the highly artificial arrangement of the ar-ticles. On the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the second asilk scarf; scattered around, were a parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief bearing the name, ’Marie Rogêt.’ Here is just such anarrangement as would naturally be made by a not over-acute per-son wishing to dispose the articles naturally. But it is by no meansa really natural arrangement. I should rather have looked to see thethings all lying on the ground and trampled under foot. In the nar-row limits of that bower, it would have been scarcely possible thatthe petticoat and scarf should have retained a position upon thestones, when subjected to the brushing to and fro of many strug-gling persons. ’There was evidence,’ it is said, ’of a struggle; andthe earth was trampled, the bushes were broken,’–but the petticoatand the scarf are found deposited as if upon shelves. ’The pieces ofthe frock torn out by the bushes were about three inches wide andsix inches long. One part was the hem of the frock and it had beenmended. They looked like strips torn off.’ Here, inadvertently, LeSoleil has employed an exceedingly suspicious phrase. The pieces,as described, do indeed ’look like strips torn off;’ but purposely andby hand. It is one of the rarest of accidents that a piece is ’torn off,’from any garment such as is now in question, by the agency of athorn. From the very nature of such fabrics, a thorn or nail becom-ing entangled in them, tears them rectangularly–divides them intotwo longitudinal rents, at right angles with each other, and meet-ing at an apex where the thorn enters–but it is scarcely possible toconceive the piece ’torn off.’ I never so knew it, nor did you. Totear a piece off from such fabric, two distinct forces, in differentdirections, will be, in almost every case, required. If there be two

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edges to the fabric–if, for example, it be a pocket-handkerchief, andit is desired to tear from it a slip, then, and then only, will the oneforce serve the purpose. But in the present case the question is ofa dress, presenting but one edge. To tear a piece from the interior,where no edge is presented, could only be effected by a miraclethrough the agency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplishit. But, even where an edge is presented, two thorns will be nec-essary, operating, the one in two distinct directions, and the otherin one. And this in the supposition that the edge is unhemmed.If hemmed, the matter is nearly out of the question. We thus seethe numerous and great obstacles in the way of pieces being ’tornoff’ through the simple agency of ’thorns;’ yet we are required tobelieve not only that one piece but that many have been so torn.’And one part,’ too, ’was the hem of the frock!’ Another piece was’part of the skirt, not the hem,’–that is to say, was torn completelyout through the agency of thorns, from the uncaged interior of thedress! These, I say, are things which one may well be pardoned fordisbelieving; yet, taken collectedly, they form, perhaps, less of rea-sonable ground for suspicion, than the one startling circumstanceof the articles’ having been left in this thicket at all, by any murder-ers who had enough precaution to think of removing the corpse.You will not have apprehended me rightly, however, if you sup-pose it my design to deny this thicket as the scene of the outrage.There might have been a wrong here, or, more possibly, an accidentat Madame Deluc’s. But, in fact, this is a point of minor impor-tance. We are not engaged in an attempt to discover the scene, butto produce the perpetrators of the murder. What I have adduced,notwithstanding the minuteness with which I have adduced it, hasbeen with the view, first, to show the folly of the positive and head-long assertions of Le Soleil, but secondly and chiefly, to bring you,by the most natural route, to a further contemplation of the doubtwhether this assassination has, or has not been, the work of a gang.

"We will resume this question by mere allusion to the revoltingdetails of the surgeon examined at the inquest. It is only neces-sary to say that his published inferences, in regard to the numberof ruffians, have been properly ridiculed as unjust and totally base-less, by all the reputable anatomists of Paris. Not that the mattermight not have been as inferred, but that there was no ground forthe inference:–was there not much for another?

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"Let us reflect now upon ’the traces of a struggle;’ and let meask what these traces have been supposed to demonstrate. A gang.But do they not rather demonstrate the absence of a gang? Whatstruggle could have taken place–what struggle so violent and soenduring as to have left its ’traces’ in all directions–between a weakand defenceless girl and the gang of ruffians imagined? The silentgrasp of a few rough arms and all would have been over. The victimmust have been absolutely passive at their will. You will here bearin mind that the arguments urged against the thicket as the scene,are applicable in chief part, only against it as the scene of an outragecommitted by more than a single individual. If we imagine butone violator, we can conceive, and thus only conceive, the struggleof so violent and so obstinate a nature as to have left the ’traces’apparent.

"And again. I have already mentioned the suspicion to be excitedby the fact that the articles in question were suffered to remain atall in the thicket where discovered. It seems almost impossible thatthese evidences of guilt should have been accidentally left wherefound. There was sufficient presence of mind (it is supposed) to re-move the corpse; and yet a more positive evidence than the corpseitself (whose features might have been quickly obliterated by de-cay,) is allowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage–Iallude to the handkerchief with the name of the deceased. If thiswas accident, it was not the accident of a gang. We can imagineit only the accident of an individual. Let us see. An individualhas committed the murder. He is alone with the ghost of the de-parted. He is appalled by what lies motionless before him. The furyof his passion is over, and there is abundant room in his heart forthe natural awe of the deed. His is none of that confidence whichthe presence of numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone with thedead. He trembles and is bewildered. Yet there is a necessity fordisposing of the corpse. He bears it to the river, but leaves behindhim the other evidences of guilt; for it is difficult, if not impossi-ble to carry all the burthen at once, and it will be easy to returnfor what is left. But in his toilsome journey to the water his fearsredouble within him. The sounds of life encompass his path. Adozen times he hears or fancies the step of an observer. Even thevery lights from the city bewilder him. Yet, in time and by longand frequent pauses of deep agony, he reaches the river’s brink,

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and disposes of his ghastly charge–perhaps through the mediumof a boat. But now what treasure does the world hold–what threatof vengeance could it hold out–which would have power to urgethe return of that lonely murderer over that toilsome and perilouspath, to the thicket and its blood chilling recollections? He returnsnot, let the consequences be what they may. He could not returnif he would. His sole thought is immediate escape. He turns hisback forever upon those dreadful shrubberies and flees as from thewrath to come.

"But how with a gang? Their number would have inspired themwith confidence; if, indeed confidence is ever wanting in the breastof the arrant blackguard; and of arrant blackguards alone are thesupposed gangs ever constituted. Their number, I say, would haveprevented the bewildering and unreasoning terror which I haveimagined to paralyze the single man. Could we suppose an over-sight in one, or two, or three, this oversight would have been reme-died by a fourth. They would have left nothing behind them; fortheir number would have enabled them to carry all at once. Therewould have been no need of return.

"Consider now the circumstance that in the outer garment of thecorpse when found, ’a slip, about a foot wide had been torn up-ward from the bottom hem to the waist wound three times roundthe waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back.’ This wasdone with the obvious design of affording a handle by which tocarry the body. But would any number of men have dreamed ofresorting to such an expedient? To three or four, the limbs of thecorpse would have afforded not only a sufficient, but the best pos-sible hold. The device is that of a single individual; and this bringsus to the fact that ’between the thicket and the river, the rails of thefences were found taken down, and the ground bore evident tracesof some heavy burden having been dragged along it!’ But woulda number of men have put themselves to the superfluous troubleof taking down a fence, for the purpose of dragging through it acorpse which they might have lifted over any fence in an instant?Would a number of men have so dragged a corpse at all as to haveleft evident traces of the dragging?

"And here we must refer to an observation of Le Commerciel;an observation upon which I have already, in some measure, com-mented. ’A piece,’ says this journal, ’of one of the unfortunate girl’s

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petticoats was torn out and tied under her chin, and around theback of her head, probably to prevent screams. This was done byfellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.’

"I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is never with-out a pocket-handkerchief. But it is not to this fact that I now espe-cially advert. That it was not through want of a handkerchief for thepurpose imagined by Le Commerciel, that this bandage was em-ployed, is rendered apparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket;and that the object was not ’to prevent screams’ appears, also, fromthe bandage having been employed in preference to what wouldso much better have answered the purpose. But the language ofthe evidence speaks of the strip in question as ’found around theneck, fitting loosely, and secured with a hard knot.’ These wordsare sufficiently vague, but differ materially from those of Le Com-merciel. The slip was eighteen inches wide, and therefore, althoughof muslin, would form a strong band when folded or rumpledlongitudinally. And thus rumpled it was discovered. My infer-ence is this. The solitary murderer, having borne the corpse, forsome distance, (whether from the thicket or elsewhere) by meansof the bandage hitched around its middle, found the weight, in thismode of procedure, too much for his strength. He resolved to dragthe burthen–the evidence goes to show that it was dragged. Withthis object in view, it became necessary to attach something like arope to one of the extremities. It could be best attached about theneck, where the head would prevent its slipping off. And, now,the murderer bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage aboutthe loins. He would have used this, but for its volution about thecorpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and the reflection that ithad not been ’torn off’ from the garment. It was easier to teara new slip from the petticoat. He tore it, made it fast about theneck, and so dragged his victim to the brink of the river. That this’bandage,’ only attainable with trouble and delay, and but imper-fectly answering its purpose–that this bandage was employed atall, demonstrates that the necessity for its employment sprang fromcircumstances arising at a period when the handkerchief was nolonger attainable–that is to say, arising, as we have imagined, afterquitting the thicket, (if the thicket it was), and on the road betweenthe thicket and the river.

"But the evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc, (!) points es-

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pecially to the presence of a gang, in the vicinity of the thicket, at orabout the epoch of the murder. This I grant. I doubt if there werenot a dozen gangs, such as described by Madame Deluc, in andabout the vicinity of the Barrière du Roule at or about the period ofthis tragedy. But the gang which has drawn upon itself the pointedanimadversion, although the somewhat tardy and very suspiciousevidence of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which is representedby that honest and scrupulous old lady as having eaten her cakesand swallowed her brandy, without putting themselves to the trou-ble of making her payment. Et hinc illæ iræ?

"But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc? ’A gang ofmiscreants made their appearance, behaved boisterously, ate anddrank without making payment, followed in the route of the youngman and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed theriver as if in great haste.’

"Now this ’great haste’ very possibly seemed greater haste in theeyes of Madame Deluc, since she dwelt lingeringly and lamentinglyupon her violated cakes and ale–cakes and ale for which she mightstill have entertained a faint hope of compensation. Why, other-wise, since it was about dusk, should she make a point of the haste?It is no cause for wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguardsshould make haste to get home, when a wide river is to be crossedin small boats, when storm impends, and when night approaches.

"I say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. It was onlyabout dusk that the indecent haste of these ’miscreants’ offendedthe sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But we are told that it was uponthis very evening that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son,’heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn.’ Andin what words does Madame Deluc designate the period of theevening at which these screams were heard? ’It was soon afterdark,’ she says. But ’soon after dark,’ is, at least, dark; and ’aboutdusk’ is as certainly daylight. Thus it is abundantly clear that thegang quitted the Barrière du Roule prior to the screams overheard(?) by Madame Deluc. And although, in all the many reports ofthe evidence, the relative expressions in question are distinctly andinvariably employed just as I have employed them in this conver-sation with yourself, no notice whatever of the gross discrepancyhas, as yet, been taken by any of the public journals, or by any ofthe Myrmidons of police.

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"I shall add but one to the arguments against a gang; but this onehas, to my own understanding at least, a weight altogether irre-sistible. Under the circumstances of large reward offered, and fullpardon to any King’s evidence, it is not to be imagined, for a mo-ment, that some member of a gang of low ruffians, or of any bodyof men, would not long ago have betrayed his accomplices. Eachone of a gang so placed, is not so much greedy of reward, or anx-ious for escape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and earlythat he may not himself be betrayed. That the secret has not beendivulged, is the very best of proof that it is, in fact, a secret. The hor-rors of this dark deed are known only to one, or two, living humanbeings, and to God.

"Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits of our longanalysis. We have attained the idea either of a fatal accident un-der the roof of Madame Deluc, or of a murder perpetrated, in thethicket at the Barrière du Roule, by a lover, or at least by an intimateand secret associate of the deceased. This associate is of swarthycomplexion. This complexion, the ’hitch’ in the bandage, and the’sailor’s knot,’ with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a sea-man. His companionship with the deceased, a gay, but not an abjectyoung girl, designates him as above the grade of the common sailor.Here the well written and urgent communications to the journalsare much in the way of corroboration. The circumstance of the firstelopement, as mentioned by Le Mercurie, tends to blend the ideaof this seaman with that of the ’naval officer’ who is first known tohave led the unfortunate into crime.

"And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of the continuedabsence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pause to observethat the complexion of this man is dark and swarthy; it was no com-mon swarthiness which constituted the sole point of remembrance,both as regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why is this manabsent? Was he murdered by the gang? If so, why are there onlytraces of the assassinated girl? The scene of the two outrages willnaturally be supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The as-sassins would most probably have disposed of both in the sameway. But it may be said that this man lives, and is deterred frommaking himself known, through dread of being charged with themurder. This consideration might be supposed to operate uponhim now–at this late period–since it has been given in evidence that

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he was seen with Marie–but it would have had no force at the pe-riod of the deed. The first impulse of an innocent man would havebeen to announce the outrage, and to aid in identifying the ruffi-ans. This policy would have suggested. He had been seen with thegirl. He had crossed the river with her in an open ferry-boat. Thedenouncing of the assassins would have appeared, even to an id-iot, the surest and sole means of relieving himself from suspicion.We cannot suppose him, on the night of the fatal Sunday, both in-nocent himself and incognizant of an outrage committed. Yet onlyunder such circumstances is it possible to imagine that he wouldhave failed, if alive, in the denouncement of the assassins.

"And what means are ours, of attaining the truth? We shall findthese means multiplying and gathering distinctness as we proceed.Let us sift to the bottom this affair of the first elopement. Letus know the full history of ’the officer,’ with his present circum-stances, and his whereabouts at the precise period of the murder.Let us carefully compare with each other the various communica-tions sent to the evening paper, in which the object was to incul-pate a gang. This done, let us compare these communications, bothas regards style and MS., with those sent to the morning paper,at a previous period, and insisting so vehemently upon the guiltof Mennais. And, all this done, let us again compare these vari-ous communications with the known MSS. of the officer. Let usendeavor to ascertain, by repeated questionings of Madame Delucand her boys, as well as of the omnibus driver, Valence, somethingmore of the personal appearance and bearing of the ’man of darkcomplexion.’ Queries, skilfully directed, will not fail to elicit, fromsome of these parties, information on this particular point (or uponothers)–information which the parties themselves may not even beaware of possessing. And let us now trace the boat picked up by thebargeman on the morning of Monday the twenty-third of June, andwhich was removed from the barge-office, without the cognizanceof the officer in attendance, and without the rudder, at some pe-riod prior to the discovery of the corpse. With a proper caution andperseverance we shall infallibly trace this boat; for not only can thebargeman who picked it up identify it, but the rudder is at hand.The rudder of a sail-boat would not have been abandoned, withoutinquiry, by one altogether at ease in heart. And here let me pauseto insinuate a question. There was no advertisement of the pick-

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ing up of this boat. It was silently taken to the barge-office, andas silently removed. But its owner or employer–how happened he,at so early a period as Tuesday morning, to be informed, withoutthe agency of advertisement, of the locality of the boat taken up onMonday, unless we imagine some connexion with the navy–somepersonal permanent connexion leading to cognizance of its minutein interests–its petty local news?

"In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his burden to theshore, I have already suggested the probability of his availing him-self of a boat. Now we are to understand that Marie Rogêt wasprecipitated from a boat. This would naturally have been the case.The corpse could not have been trusted to the shallow waters ofthe shore. The peculiar marks on the back and shoulders of thevictim tell of the bottom ribs of a boat. That the body was foundwithout weight is also corroborative of the idea. If thrown fromthe shore a weight would have been attached. We can only accountfor its absence by supposing the murderer to have neglected theprecaution of supplying himself with it before pushing off. In theact of consigning the corpse to the water, he would unquestion-ably have noticed his oversight; but then no remedy would havebeen at hand. Any risk would have been preferred to a returnto that accursed shore. Having rid himself of his ghastly charge,the murderer would have hastened to the city. There, at some ob-scure wharf, he would have leaped on land. But the boat–wouldhe have secured it? He would have been in too great haste for suchthings as securing a boat. Moreover, in fastening it to the wharf, hewould have felt as if securing evidence against himself. His natu-ral thought would have been to cast from him, as far as possible,all that had held connection with his crime. He would not onlyhave fled from the wharf, but he would not have permitted the boatto remain. Assuredly he would have cast it adrift. Let us pursueour fancies.–In the morning, the wretch is stricken with unutterablehorror at finding that the boat has been picked up and detained ata locality which he is in the daily habit of frequenting –at a locality,perhaps, which his duty compels him to frequent. The next night,without daring to ask for the rudder, he removes it. Now where isthat rudderless boat? Let it be one of our first purposes to discover.With the first glimpse we obtain of it, the dawn of our success shallbegin. This boat shall guide us, with a rapidity which will surprise

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even ourselves, to him who employed it in the midnight of the fa-tal Sabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration, and themurderer will be traced."

[For reasons which we shall not specify, but which to many read-ers will appear obvious, we have taken the liberty of here omitting,from the MSS. placed in our hands, such portion as details the fol-lowing up of the apparently slight clew obtained by Dupin. Wefeel it advisable only to state, in brief, that the result desired wasbrought to pass; and that the Prefect fulfilled punctually, althoughwith reluctance, the terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr.Poe’s article concludes with the following words.–Eds.27]

It will be understood that I speak of coincidences and no more.What I have said above upon this topic must suffice. In my ownheart there dwells no faith in præter-nature. That Nature and itsGod are two, no man who thinks, will deny. That the latter, creatingthe former, can, at will, control or modify it, is also unquestionable.I say "at will;" for the question is of will, and not, as the insanity oflogic has assumed, of power. It is not that the Deity cannot modifyhis laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possible necessityfor modification. In their origin these laws were fashioned to em-brace all contingencies which could lie in the Future. With God allis Now.

I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as of coincidences.And farther: in what I relate it will be seen that between the fateof the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers, so far as that fate is known,and the fate of one Marie Rogêt up to a certain epoch in her history,there has existed a parallel in the contemplation of whose wonder-ful exactitude the reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this willbe seen. But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in proceed-ing with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just mentioned,and in tracing to its dénouement the mystery which enshroudedher, it is my covert design to hint at an extension of the parallel, oreven to suggest that the measures adopted in Paris for the discov-ery of the assassin of a grisette, or measures founded in any similarratiocination, would produce any similar result.

For, in respect to the latter branch of the supposition, it shouldbe considered that the most trifling variation in the facts of the

27Of the Magazine in which the article was originally published.

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two cases might give rise to the most important miscalculations,by diverting thoroughly the two courses of events; very much as,in arithmetic, an error which, in its own individuality, may be inap-preciable, produces, at length, by dint of multiplication at all pointsof the process, a result enormously at variance with truth. And,in regard to the former branch, we must not fail to hold in viewthat the very Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred,forbids all idea of the extension of the parallel:–forbids it with apositiveness strong and decided just in proportion as this paral-lel has already been long-drawn and exact. This is one of thoseanomalous propositions which, seemingly appealing to thought al-together apart from the mathematical, is yet one which only themathematician can fully entertain. Nothing, for example, is moredifficult than to convince the merely general reader that the fact ofsixes having been thrown twice in succession by a player at dice,is sufficient cause for betting the largest odds that sixes will not bethrown in the third attempt. A suggestion to this effect is usuallyrejected by the intellect at once. It does not appear that the twothrows which have been completed, and which lie now absolutelyin the Past, can have influence upon the throw which exists only inthe Future. The chance for throwing sixes seems to be precisely asit was at any ordinary time–that is to say, subject only to the influ-ence of the various other throws which may be made by the dice.And this is a reflection which appears so exceedingly obvious thatattempts to controvert it are received more frequently with a deri-sive smile than with anything like respectful attention. The errorhere involved–a gross error redolent of mischief–I cannot pretendto expose within the limits assigned me at present; and with thephilosophical it needs no exposure. It may be sufficient here to saythat it forms one of an infinite series of mistakes which arise in thepath of Reason through her propensity for seeking truth in detail.

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[Astounding News by Express,via Norfolk!–The Atlantic crossedin Three Days! Signal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason’s FlyingMachine!–Arrival at Sullivan’s Island, near Charlestown, S.C., ofMr. Mason, Mr. Robert Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. HarrisonAinsworth, and four others, in the Steering Balloon, "Victoria," aftera passage of Seventy-five Hours from Land to Land! Full Particu-lars of the Voyage!

The subjoined jeu d’esprit with the preceding heading in mag-nificent capitals, well interspersed with notes of admiration, wasoriginally published, as matter of fact, in the "New York Sun," adaily newspaper, and therein fully subserved the purpose of cre-ating indigestible aliment for the Vuidnuncs during the few hoursintervening between a couple of the Charleston mails. The rush forthe "sole paper which had the news," was something beyond eventhe prodigious; and, in fact, if (as some assert) the "Victoria" did notabsolutely accomplish the voyage recorded, it will be difficult toassign a reason why she should not have accomplished it.]

THE great problem is at length solved! The air, as well as theearth and the ocean, has been subdued by science, and will be-come a common and convenient highway for mankind. The At-lantic has been actually crossed in a Balloon! and this too with-out difficulty–without any great apparent danger–with thoroughcontrol of the machine–and in the inconceivably brief period ofseventy-five hours from shore to shore! By the energy of an agent atCharleston, S.C., we are enabled to be the first to furnish the publicwith a detailed account of this most extraordinary voyage, which

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was performed between Saturday, the 6th instant, at 11, A.M., and2, P.M., on Tuesday, the 9th instant, by Sir Everard Bringhurst;Mr. Osborne, a nephew of Lord Bentinck’s; Mr. Monck Masonand Mr. Robert Holland, the well-known æronauts; Mr. HarrisonAinsworth, author of "Jack Sheppard," &c; and Mr. Henson, theprojector of the late unsuccessful flying machine–with two seamenfrom Woolwich–in all, eight persons. The particulars furnished be-low may be relied on as authentic and accurate in every respect, as,with a slight exception, they are copiedverbatim from the joint di-aries of Mr. Monck Mason and Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, to whosepoliteness our agent is also indebted for much verbal informationrespecting the balloon itself, its construction, and other matters ofinterest. The only alteration in the MS. received, has been madefor the purpose of throwing the hurried account of our agent, Mr.Forsyth, into a connected and intelligible form.

"THE BALLOON."Two very decided failures, of late–those of Mr. Henson and

Sir George Cayley–had much weakened the public interest in thesubject of aerial navigation. Mr. Henson’s scheme (which at firstwas considered very feasible even by men of science,) was foundedupon the principle of an inclined plane, started from an eminenceby an extrinsic force, applied and continued by the revolution ofimpinging vanes, in form and number resembling the vanes of awindmill. But, in all the experiments made with models at theAdelaide Gallery, it was found that the operation of these fans notonly did not propel the machine, but actually impeded its flight.The only propelling force it ever exhibited, was the mere impetusacquired from the descent of the inclined plane; and this impetuscarried the machine farther when the vanes were at rest, than whenthey were in motion–a fact which sufficiently demonstrates theirinutility; and in the absence of the propelling, which was also thesustaining power, the whole fabric would necessarily descend. Thisconsideration led Sir George Cayley to think only of adapting a pro-peller to some machine having of itself an independent power ofsupport–in a word, to a balloon; the idea, however, being novel, ororiginal, with Sir George, only so far as regards the mode of its ap-plication to practice. He exhibited a model of his invention at thePolytechnic Institution. The propelling principle, or power, washere, also, applied to interrupted surfaces, or vanes, put in revo-

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lution. These vanes were four in number, but were found entirelyineffectual in moving the balloon, or in aiding its ascending power.The whole project was thus a complete failure.

"It was at this juncture that Mr. Monck Mason (whose voyagefrom Dover to Weilburg in the balloon, "Nassau," occasioned somuch excitement in 1837,) conceived the idea of employing theprinciple of the Archimedean screw for the purpose of propul-sion through the air–rightly attributing the failure of Mr. Henson’sscheme, and of Sir George Cayley’s, to the interruption of surfacein the independent vanes. He made the first public experiment atWillis’s Rooms, but afterward removed his model to the AdelaideGallery.

"Like Sir George Cayley’s balloon, his own was an ellipsoid. Itslength was thirteen feet six inches–height, six feet eight inches.It contained about three hundred and twenty cubic feet of gas,which, if pure hydrogen, would support twenty-one pounds uponits first inflation, before the gas has time to deteriorate or escape.The weight of the whole machine and apparatus was seventeenpounds–leaving about four pounds to spare. Beneath the centreof the balloon, was a frame of light wood, about nine feet long,and rigged on to the balloon itself with a network in the customarymanner. From this framework was suspended a wicker basket orcar.

"The screw consists of an axis of hollow brass tube, eighteeninches in length, through which, upon a semi-spiral inclined at fif-teen degrees, pass a series of steel wire radii, two feet long, and thusprojecting a foot on either side. These radii are connected at theouter extremities by two bands of flattened wire–the whole in thismanner forming the framework of the screw, which is completed bya covering of oiled silk cut into gores, and tightened so as to presenta tolerably uniform surface. At each end of its axis this screw is sup-ported by pillars of hollow brass tube descending from the hoop. Inthe lower ends of these tubes are holes in which the pivots of theaxis revolve. From the end of the axis which is next the car, pro-ceeds a shaft of steel, connecting the screw with the pinion of apiece of spring machinery fixed in the car. By the operation of thisspring, the screw is made to revolve with great rapidity, commu-nicating a progressive motion to the whole. By means of the rud-der, the machine was readily turned in any direction. The spring

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was of great power, compared with its dimensions, being capableof raising forty-five pounds upon a barrel of four inches diameter,after the first turn, and gradually increasing as it was wound up.It weighed, altogether, eight pounds six ounces. The rudder wasa light frame of cane covered with silk, shaped somewhat like abattle-door, and was about three feet long, and at the widest, onefoot. Its weight was about two ounces. It could be turned flat, anddirected upwards or downwards, as well as to the right or left; andthus enabled the æronaut to transfer the resistance of the air whichin an inclined position it must generate in its passage, to any sideupon which he might desire to act; thus determining the balloon inthe opposite direction.

"This model (which, through want of time, we have necessarilydescribed in an imperfect manner,) was put in action at the Ade-laide Gallery, where it accomplished a velocity of five miles perhour; although, strange to say, it excited very little interest in com-parison with the previous complex machine of Mr. Henson–so res-olute is the world to despise anything which carries with it an airof simplicity. To accomplish the great desideratum of ærial naviga-tion, it was very generally supposed that some exceedingly compli-cated application must be made of some unusually profound prin-ciple in dynamics.

"So well satisfied, however, was Mr. Mason of the ultimate suc-cess of his invention, that he determined to construct immediately,if possible, a balloon of sufficient capacity to test the question by avoyage of some extent–the original design being to cross the BritishChannel, as before, in the Nassau balloon. To carry out his views, hesolicited and obtained the patronage of Sir Everard Bringhurst andMr. Osborne, two gentlemen well known for scientific acquirement,and especially for the interest they have exhibited in the progressof ærostation. The project, at the desire of Mr. Osborne, was kepta profound secret from the public–the only persons entrusted withthe design being those actually engaged in the construction of themachine, which was built (under the superintendence of Mr. Ma-son, Mr. Holland, Sir Everard Bringhurst, and Mr. Osborne,) at theseat of the latter gentleman near Penstruthal, in Wales. Mr. Hen-son, accompanied by his friend Mr. Ainsworth, was admitted toa private view of the balloon, on Saturday last–when the two gen-tlemen made final arrangements to be included in the adventure.

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We are not informed for what reason the two seamen were also in-cluded in the party–but, in the course of a day or two, we shall putour readers in possession of the minutest particulars respecting thisextraordinary voyage.

"The balloon is composed of silk, varnished with the liquid gumcaoutchouc. It is of vast dimensions, containing more than 40,000cubic feet of gas; but as coal gas was employed in place of the moreexpensive and inconvenient hydrogen, the supporting power of themachine, when fully inflated, and immediately after inflation, is notmore than about 2500 pounds. The coal gas is not only much lesscostly, but is easily procured and managed.

"For its introduction into common use for purposes of aerosta-tion, we are indebted to Mr. Charles Green. Up to his discovery,the process of inflation was not only exceedingly expensive, but un-certain. Two, and even three days, have frequently been wasted infutile attempts to procure a sufficiency of hydrogen to fill a balloon,from which it had great tendency to escape, owing to its extremesubtlety, and its affinity for the surrounding atmosphere. In a bal-loon sufficiently perfect to retain its contents of coal-gas unaltered,in quantity or amount, for six months, an equal quantity of hydro-gen could not be maintained in equal purity for six weeks.

"The supporting power being estimated at 2500 pounds, and theunited weights of the party amounting only to about 1200, therewas left a surplus of 1300, of which again 1200 was exhausted byballast, arranged in bags of different sizes, with their respectiveweights marked upon them–by cordage, barometers, telescopes,barrels containing provision for a fortnight, water-casks, cloaks,carpet-bags, and various other indispensable matters, including acoffee-warmer, contrived for warming coffee by means of slack-lime, so as to dispense altogether with fire, if it should be judgedprudent to do so. All these articles, with the exception of the bal-last, and a few trifles, were suspended from the hoop overhead.The car is much smaller and lighter, in proportion, than the oneappended to the model. It is formed of a light wicker, and is won-derfully strong, for so frail looking a machine. Its rim is about fourfeet deep. The rudder is also very much larger, in proportion, thanthat of the model; and the screw is considerably smaller. The bal-loon is furnished besides with a grapnel, and a guide-rope; whichlatter is of the most indispensable importance. A few words, in ex-

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planation, will here be necessary for such of our readers as are notconversant with the details of aerostation.

"As soon as the balloon quits the earth, it is subjected to the in-fluence of many circumstances tending to create a difference in itsweight; augmenting or diminishing its ascending power. For exam-ple, there may be a deposition of dew upon the silk, to the extent,even, of several hundred pounds; ballast has then to be thrown out,or the machine may descend. This ballast being discarded, and aclear sunshine evaporating the dew, and at the same time expand-ing the gas in the silk, the whole will again rapidly ascend. To checkthis ascent, the only recourse is, (or rather was, until Mr. Green’s in-vention of the guide-rope,) the permission of the escape of gas fromthe valve; but, in the loss of gas, is a proportionate general loss ofascending power; so that, in a comparatively brief period, the best-constructed balloon must necessarily exhaust all its resources, andcome to the earth. This was the great obstacle to voyages of length.

"The guide-rope remedies the difficulty in the simplest mannerconceivable. It is merely a very long rope which is suffered to trailfrom the car, and the effect of which is to prevent the balloon fromchanging its level in any material degree. If, for example, thereshould be a deposition of moisture upon the silk, and the machinebegins to descend in consequence, there will be no necessity for dis-charging ballast to remedy the increase of weight, for it is remedied,or counteracted, in an exactly just proportion, by the deposit on theground of just so much of the end of the rope as is necessary. If, onthe other hand, any circumstances should cause undue levity, andconsequent ascent, this levity is immediately counteracted by theadditional weight of rope upraised from the earth. Thus, the bal-loon can neither ascend or descend, except within very narrow lim-its, and its resources, either in gas or ballast, remain comparativelyunimpaired. When passing over an expanse of water, it becomesnecessary to employ small kegs of copper or wood, filled with liq-uid ballast of a lighter nature than water. These float, and serve allthe purposes of a mere rope on land. Another most important of-fice of the guide-rope, is to point out the direction of the balloon. Therope drags, either on land or sea, while the balloon is free; the latter,consequently, is always in advance, when any progress whatever ismade: a comparison, therefore, by means of the compass, of the rel-ative positions of the two objects, will always indicate the course. In

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the same way, the angle formed by the rope with the vertical axis ofthe machine, indicates thevelocity. When there is no angle–in otherwords, when the rope hangs perpendicularly, the whole apparatusis stationary; but the larger the angle, that is to say, the farther theballoon precedes the end of the rope, the greater the velocity; andthe converse.

"As the original design was to cross the British Channel, andalight as near Paris as possible, the voyagers had taken the precau-tion to prepare themselves with passports directed to all parts ofthe Continent, specifying the nature of the expedition, as in the caseof the Nassau voyage, and entitling the adventurers to exemptionfrom the usual formalities of office: unexpected events, however,rendered these passports superfluous.

"The inflation was commenced very quietly at daybreak, on Sat-urday morning, the 6th instant, in the Court-Yard of Weal-VorHouse, Mr. Osborne’s seat, about a mile from Penstruthal, in NorthWales; and at 7 minutes past 11, every thing being ready for de-parture, the balloon was set free, rising gently but steadily, in a di-rection nearly South; no use being made, for the first half hour, ofeither the screw or the rudder. We proceed now with the journal,as transcribed by Mr. Forsyth from the joint MSS. Of Mr. MonckMason, and Mr. Ainsworth. The body of the journal, as given, is inthe hand-writing of Mr. Mason, and a P. S. is appended, each day,by Mr. Ainsworth, who has in preparation, and will shortly givethe public a more minute, and no doubt, a thrillingly interestingaccount of the voyage.

"THE JOURNAL.

"Saturday, April the 6th.–Every preparation likely to embarrassus, having been made over night, we commenced the inflation thismorning at daybreak; but owing to a thick fog, which encumberedthe folds of the silk and rendered it unmanageable, we did not getthrough before nearly eleven o’clock. Cut loose, then, in high spir-its, and rose gently but steadily, with a light breeze at North, whichbore us in the direction of the British Channel. Found the ascend-ing force greater than we had expected; and as we arose higherand so got clear of the cliffs, and more in the sun’s rays, our as-cent became very rapid. I did not wish, however, to lose gas atso early a period of the adventure, and so concluded to ascend for

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the present. We soon ran out our guide-rope; but even when wehad raised it clear of the earth, we still went up very rapidly. Theballoon was unusually steady, and looked beautifully. In about tenminutes after starting, the barometer indicated an altitude of 15,000feet. The weather was remarkably fine, and the view of the subja-cent country–a most romantic one when seen from any point,–wasnow especially sublime. The numerous deep gorges presented theappearance of lakes, on account of the dense vapors with whichthey were filled, and the pinnacles and crags to the South East, piledin inextricable confusion, resembling nothing so much as the giantcities of eastern fable. We were rapidly approaching the mountainsin the South; but our elevation was more than sufficient to enableus to pass them in safety. In a few minutes we soared over them infine style; and Mr. Ainsworth, with the seamen, was surprised attheir apparent want of altitude when viewed from the car, the ten-dency of great elevation in a balloon being to reduce inequalities ofthe surface below, to nearly a dead level. At half-past eleven stillproceeding nearly South, we obtained our first view of the BristolChannel; and, in fifteen minutes afterward, the line of breakers onthe coast appeared immediately beneath us, and we were fairly outat sea. We now resolved to let off enough gas to bring our guide-rope, with the buoys affixed, into the water. This was immediatelydone, and we commenced a gradual descent. In about twenty min-utes our first buoy dipped, and at the touch of the second soonafterwards, we remained stationary as to elevation. We were allnow anxious to test the efficiency of the rudder and screw, and weput them both into requisition forthwith, for the purpose of alter-ing our direction more to the eastward, and in a line for Paris. Bymeans of the rudder we instantly effected the necessary change ofdirection, and our course was brought nearly at right angles to thatof the wind; when we set in motion the spring of the screw, andwere rejoiced to find it propel us readily as desired. Upon this wegave nine hearty cheers, and dropped in the sea a bottle, enclosinga slip of parchment with a brief account of the principle of the in-vention. Hardly, however, had we done with our rejoicings, whenan unforeseen accident occurred which discouraged us in no littledegree. The steel rod connecting the spring with the propeller wassuddenly jerked out of place, at the car end, (by a swaying of the carthrough some movement of one of the two seamen we had taken

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up,) and in an instant hung dangling out of reach, from the pivotof the axis of the screw. While we were endeavoring to regain it,our attention being completely absorbed, we became involved in astrong current of wind from the East, which bore us, with rapidlyincreasing force, towards the Atlantic. We soon found ourselvesdriving out to sea at the rate of not less, certainly, than fifty or sixtymiles an hour, so that we came up with Cape Clear, at some fortymiles to our North, before we had secured the rod, and had time tothink what we were about. It was now that Mr. Ainsworth madean extraordinary, but to my fancy, a by no means unreasonable orchimerical proposition, in which he was instantly seconded by Mr.Holland–viz.: that we should take advantage of the strong galewhich bore us on, and in place of beating back to Paris, make anattempt to reach the coast of North America. After slight reflectionI gave a willing assent to this bold proposition, which (strange tosay) met with objection from the two seamen only. As the strongerparty, however, we overruled their fears, and kept resolutely uponour course. We steered due West; but as the trailing of the buoysmaterially impeded our progress, and we had the balloon abun-dantly at command, either for ascent or descent, we first threw outfifty pounds of ballast, and then wound up (by means of a wind-lass) so much of the rope as brought it quite clear of the sea. Weperceived the effect of this manoeuvre immediately, in a vastly in-creased rate of progress; and, as the gale freshened, we flew with avelocity nearly inconceivable; the guide-rope flying out behind thecar, like a streamer from a vessel. It is needless to say that a veryshort time sufficed us to lose sight of the coast. We passed overinnumerable vessels of all kinds, a few of which were endeavor-ing to beat up, but the most of them lying to. We occasioned thegreatest excitement on board all–an excitement greatly relished byourselves, and especially by our two men, who, now under the in-fluence of a dram of Geneva, seemed resolved to give all scruple, orfear, to the wind. Many of the vessels fired signal guns; and in allwe were saluted with loud cheers (which we heard with surprisingdistinctness) and the waving of caps and handkerchiefs. We kept onin this manner throughout the day, with no material incident, and,as the shades of night closed around us, we made a rough estimateof the distance traversed. It could not have been less than five hun-dred miles, and was probably much more. The propeller was kept

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in constant operation, and, no doubt, aided our progress materially.As the sun went down, the gale freshened into an absolute hurri-cane, and the ocean beneath was clearly visible on account of itsphosphorescence. The wind was from the East all night, and gaveus the brightest omen of success. We suffered no little from cold,and the dampness of the atmosphere was most unpleasant; but theample space in the car enabled us to lie down, and by means ofcloaks and a few blankets, we did sufficiently well.

"P.S. (by Mr. Ainsworth.) The last nine hours have been unques-tionably the most exciting of my life. I can conceive nothing moresublimating than the strange peril and novelty of an adventure suchas this. May God grant that we succeed! I ask not success for meresafety to my insignificant person, but for the sake of human knowl-edge and–for the vastness of the triumph. And yet the feat is onlyso evidently feasible that the sole wonder is why men have scru-pled to attempt it before. One single gale such as now befriendsus–let such a tempest whirl forward a balloon for four or five days(these gales often last longer) and the voyager will be easily borne,in that period, from coast to coast. In view of such a gale the broadAtlantic becomes a mere lake. I am more struck, just now, with thesupreme silence which reigns in the sea beneath us, notwithstand-ing its agitation, than with any other phenomenon presenting itself.The waters give up no voice to the heavens. The immense flamingocean writhes and is tortured uncomplainingly. The mountainoussurges suggest the idea of innumerable dumb gigantic fiends strug-gling in impotent agony. In a night such as is this to me, a manlives–lives a whole century of ordinary life–nor would I forego thisrapturous delight for that of a whole century of ordinary existence.

"Sunday, the seventh. [Mr. Mason’s MS.] This morning the gale,by 10, had subsided to an eight or nine–knot breeze, (for a vesselat sea,) and bears us, perhaps, thirty miles per hour, or more. Ithas veered, however, very considerably to the north; and now, atsundown, we are holding our course due west, principally by thescrew and rudder, which answer their purposes to admiration. Iregard the project as thoroughly successful, and the easy navigationof the air in any direction (not exactly in the teeth of a gale) as nolonger problematical. We could not have made head against thestrong wind of yesterday; but, by ascending, we might have gotout of its influence, if requisite. Against a pretty stiff breeze, I feel

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convinced, we can make our way with the propeller. At noon, to-day, ascended to an elevation of nearly 25,000 feet, by dischargingballast. Did this to search for a more direct current, but found noneso favorable as the one we are now in. We have an abundance of gasto take us across this small pond, even should the voyage last threeweeks. I have not the slightest fear for the result. The difficulty hasbeen strangely exaggerated and misapprehended. I can choose mycurrent, and should I find all currents against me, I can make verytolerable headway with the propeller. We have had no incidentsworth recording. The night promises fair.

P.S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] I have little to record, except the fact(to me quite a surprising one) that, at an elevation equal to that ofCotopaxi, I experienced neither very intense cold, nor headache,nor difficulty of breathing; neither, I find, did Mr. Mason, nor Mr.Holland, nor Sir Everard. Mr. Osborne complained of constric-tion of the chest–but this soon wore off. We have flown at a greatrate during the day, and we must be more than half way acrossthe Atlantic. We have passed over some twenty or thirty vessels ofvarious kinds, and all seem to be delightfully astonished. Crossingthe ocean in a balloon is not so difficult a feat after all. Omne ig-notum pro magnifico. Mem: at 25,000 feet elevation the sky appearsnearly black, and the stars are distinctly visible; while the sea doesnot seem convex (as one might suppose) but absolutely and mostunequivocally concave.28

28Mr. Ainsworth has not attempted to account for this phenomenon, which,however, is quite susceptible of explanation. A line dropped from an elevationof 25,000 feet, perpendicularly to the surface of the earth (or sea), would formthe perpendicular of a right-angled triangle, of which the base would extendfrom the right angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon tothe balloon. But the 25,000 feet of altitude is little or nothing, in comparisonwith the extent of the prospect. In other words, the base and hypothenuse ofthe supposed triangle would be so long when compared with the perpendic-ular, that the two former may be regarded as nearly parallel. In this mannerthe horizon of the æronaut would appear to be on a level with the car. But,as the point immediately beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance belowhim, it seems, of course, also, at a great distance below the horizon. Hencethe impression of concavity; and this impression must remain, until the eleva-tion shall bear so great a proportion to the extent of prospect, that the appar-ent parallelism of the base and hypothenuse disappears—when the earth’s realconvexity must become apparent.

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"Monday, the 8th. [Mr. Mason’s MS.] This morning we had againsome little trouble with the rod of the propeller, which must be en-tirely remodelled, for fear of serious accident–I mean the steel rod–not the vanes. The latter could not be improved. The wind hasbeen blowing steadily and strongly from the north-east all day andso far fortune seems bent upon favoring us. Just before day, wewere all somewhat alarmed at some odd noises and concussionsin the balloon, accompanied with the apparent rapid subsidence ofthe whole machine. These phenomena were occasioned by the ex-pansion of the gas, through increase of heat in the atmosphere, andthe consequent disruption of the minute particles of ice with whichthe network had become encrusted during the night. Threw downseveral bottles to the vessels below. Saw one of them picked up bya large ship–seemingly one of the New York line packets. Endeav-ored to make out her name, but could not be sure of it. Mr. Os-borne’s telescope made it out something like "Atalanta." It is now12, at night, and we are still going nearly west, at a rapid pace. Thesea is peculiarly phosphorescent.

"P.S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] It is now 2, A.M., and nearly calm, aswell as I can judge–but it is very difficult to determine this point,since we move with the air so completely. I have not slept sincequitting Wheal-Vor, but can stand it no longer, and must take a nap.We cannot be far from the American coast.

"Tuesday, the 9th. [Mr. Ainsworth’s MS.] One, P.M. We are in fullview of the low coast of South Carolina. The great problem is accom-plished. We have crossed the Atlantic–fairly and easily crossed it ina balloon! God be praised! Who shall say that anything is impossi-ble hereafter?"

The Journal here ceases. Some particulars of the descent werecommunicated, however, by Mr. Ainsworth to Mr. Forsyth. It wasnearly dead calm when the voyagers first came in view of the coast,which was immediately recognized by both the seamen, and by Mr.Osborne. The latter gentleman having acquaintances at Fort Moul-trie, it was immediately resolved to descend in its vicinity. The bal-loon was brought over the beach (the tide being out and the sandhard, smooth, and admirably adapted for a descent,) and the grap-nel let go, which took firm hold at once. The inhabitants of theisland, and of the fort, thronged out, of course, to see the balloon;but it was with the greatest difficulty that any one could be made

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to credit the actual voyage–the crossing of the Atlantic. The grapnelcaught at 2, P.M., precisely; and thus the whole voyage was com-pleted in seventy-five hours; or rather less, counting from shore toshore. No serious accident occurred. No real danger was at anytime apprehended. The balloon was exhausted and secured with-out trouble; and when the MS. from which this narrative is com-piled was despatched from Charleston, the party were still at FortMoultrie. Their farther intentions were not ascertained; but we cansafely promise our readers some additional information either onMonday or in the course of the next day, at farthest.

This is unquestionably the most stupendous, the most interest-ing, and the most important undertaking, ever accomplished oreven attempted by man. What magnificent events may ensue, itwould be useless now to think of determining.

MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLEQui n’a plus qu’un moment a vivreN’a plus rien a dissimuler.–Quinault–Atys.

Of my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage andlength of years have driven me from the one, and estranged mefrom the other. Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of nocommon order, and a contemplative turn of mind enabled me tomethodize the stores which early study very diligently garneredup.–Beyond all things, the study of the German moralists gave megreat delight; not from any ill-advised admiration of their eloquentmadness, but from the ease with which my habits of rigid thoughtenabled me to detect their falsities. I have often been reproachedwith the aridity of my genius; a deficiency of imagination has beenimputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions hasat all times rendered me notorious. Indeed, a strong relish for phys-ical philosophy has, I fear, tinctured my mind with a very commonerror of this age–I mean the habit of referring occurrences, even theleast susceptible of such reference, to the principles of that science.Upon the whole, no person could be less liable than myself to beled away from the severe precincts of truth by the ignes fatui ofsuperstition. I have thought proper to premise thus much, lest the

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incredible tale I have to tell should be considered rather the ravingof a crude imagination, than the positive experience of a mind towhich the reveries of fancy have been a dead letter and a nullity.

After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in the year 18–, from the port of Batavia, in the rich and populous island of Java,on a voyage to the Archipelago of the Sunda islands. I went aspassenger–having no other inducement than a kind of nervous rest-lessness which haunted me as a fiend.

Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four hundred tons,copper-fastened, and built at Bombay of Malabar teak. She wasfreighted with cotton-wool and oil, from the Lachadive islands. Wehad also on board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoa-nuts, and a few casesof opium. The stowage was clumsily done, and the vessel conse-quently crank.

We got under way with a mere breath of wind, and for many daysstood along the eastern coast of Java, without any other incident tobeguile the monotony of our course than the occasional meetingwith some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to which we werebound.

One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed a very singu-lar, isolated cloud, to the N.W. It was remarkable, as well for itscolor, as from its being the first we had seen since our departurefrom Batavia. I watched it attentively until sunset, when it spreadall at once to the eastward and westward, girting in the horizonwith a narrow strip of vapor, and looking like a long line of lowbeach. My notice was soon afterwards attracted by the dusky-redappearance of the moon, and the peculiar character of the sea. Thelatter was undergoing a rapid change, and the water seemed morethan usually transparent. Although I could distinctly see the bot-tom, yet, heaving the lead, I found the ship in fifteen fathoms. Theair now became intolerably hot, and was loaded with spiral exha-lations similar to those arising from heat iron. As night came on,every breath of wind died away, an more entire calm it is impossi-ble to conceive. The flame of a candle burned upon the poop with-out the least perceptible motion, and a long hair, held between thefinger and thumb, hung without the possibility of detecting a vibra-tion. However, as the captain said he could perceive no indicationof danger, and as we were drifting in bodily to shore, he ordered

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the sails to be furled, and the anchor let go. No watch was set, andthe crew, consisting principally of Malays, stretched themselves de-liberately upon deck. I went below–not without a full presentimentof evil. Indeed, every appearance warranted me in apprehendinga Simoom. I told the captain my fears; but he paid no attentionto what I said, and left me without deigning to give a reply. Myuneasiness, however, prevented me from sleeping, and about mid-night I went upon deck.–As I placed my foot upon the upper stepof the companion-ladder, I was startled by a loud, humming noise,like that occasioned by the rapid revolution of a mill-wheel, andbefore I could ascertain its meaning, I found the ship quivering toits centre. In the next instant, a wilderness of foam hurled us uponour beam-ends, and, rushing over us fore and aft, swept the entiredecks from stem to stern.

The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great measure, the sal-vation of the ship. Although completely water-logged, yet, as hermasts had gone by the board, she rose, after a minute, heavily fromthe sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense pressure ofthe tempest, finally righted.

By what miracle I escaped destruction, it is impossible to say.Stunned by the shock of the water, I found myself, upon recovery,jammed in between the stern-post and rudder. With great difficultyI gained my feet, and looking dizzily around, was, at first, struckwith the idea of our being among breakers; so terrific, beyond thewildest imagination, was the whirlpool of mountainous and foam-ing ocean within which we were engulfed. After a while, I heardthe voice of an old Swede, who had shipped with us at the momentof our leaving port. I hallooed to him with all my strength, andpresently he came reeling aft. We soon discovered that we were thesole survivors of the accident. All on deck, with the exception ofourselves, had been swept overboard;–the captain and mates musthave perished as they slept, for the cabins were deluged with water.Without assistance, we could expect to do little for the security ofthe ship, and our exertions were at first paralyzed by the momen-tary expectation of going down. Our cable had, of course, partedlike pack-thread, at the first breath of the hurricane, or we shouldhave been instantaneously overwhelmed. We scudded with fright-ful velocity before the sea, and the water made clear breaches overus. The frame-work of our stern was shattered excessively, and, in

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almost every respect, we had received considerable injury; but toour extreme Joy we found the pumps unchoked, and that we hadmade no great shifting of our ballast. The main fury of the blast hadalready blown over, and we apprehended little danger from the vi-olence of the wind; but we looked forward to its total cessation withdismay; well believing, that, in our shattered condition, we shouldinevitably perish in the tremendous swell which would ensue. Butthis very just apprehension seemed by no means likely to be soonverified. For five entire days and nights–during which our onlysubsistence was a small quantity of jaggeree, procured with greatdifficulty from the forecastle–the hulk flew at a rate defying com-putation, before rapidly succeeding flaws of wind, which, withoutequalling the first violence of the Simoom, were still more terrificthan any tempest I had before encountered. Our course for the firstfour days was, with trifling variations, S.E. and by S.; and we musthave run down the coast of New Holland.–On the fifth day the coldbecame extreme, although the wind had hauled round a point moreto the northward.–The sun arose with a sickly yellow lustre, andclambered a very few degrees above the horizon–emitting no deci-sive light.–There were no clouds apparent, yet the wind was uponthe increase, and blew with a fitful and unsteady fury. About noon,as nearly as we could guess, our attention was again arrested by theappearance of the sun. It gave out no light, properly so called, but adull and sullen glow without reflection, as if all its rays were polar-ized. Just before sinking within the turgid sea, its central fires sud-denly went out, as if hurriedly extinguished by some unaccount-able power. It was a dim, sliver-like rim, alone, as it rushed downthe unfathomable ocean.

We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth day–that day tome has not arrived–to the Swede, never did arrive. Thencefor-ward we were enshrouded in patchy darkness, so that we couldnot have seen an object at twenty paces from the ship. Eternalnight continued to envelop us, all unrelieved by the phosphoricsea-brilliancy to which we had been accustomed in the tropics. Weobserved too, that, although the tempest continued to rage withunabated violence, there was no longer to be discovered the usualappearance of surf, or foam, which had hitherto attended us. Allaround were horror, and thick gloom, and a black sweltering desertof ebony.–Superstitious terror crept by degrees into the spirit of the

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old Swede, and my own soul was wrapped up in silent wonder.We neglected all care of the ship, as worse than useless, and secur-ing ourselves, as well as possible, to the stump of the mizen-mast,looked out bitterly into the world of ocean. We had no means ofcalculating time, nor could we form any guess of our situation. Wewere, however, well aware of having made farther to the south-ward than any previous navigators, and felt great amazement atnot meeting with the usual impediments of ice. In the meantimeevery moment threatened to be our last–every mountainous bil-low hurried to overwhelm us. The swell surpassed anything I hadimagined possible, and that we were not instantly buried is a mir-acle. My companion spoke of the lightness of our cargo, and re-minded me of the excellent qualities of our ship; but I could nothelp feeling the utter hopelessness of hope itself, and prepared my-self gloomily for that death which I thought nothing could deferbeyond an hour, as, with every knot of way the ship made, theswelling of the black stupendous seas became more dismally ap-palling. At times we gasped for breath at an elevation beyond thealbatross–at times became dizzy with the velocity of our descentinto some watery hell, where the air grew stagnant, and no sounddisturbed the slumbers of the kraken.

We were at the bottom of one of these abysses, when a quickscream from my companion broke fearfully upon the night. "See!see!" cried he, shrieking in my ears, "Almighty God! see! see!" Ashe spoke, I became aware of a dull, sullen glare of red light whichstreamed down the sides of the vast chasm where we lay, and threwa fitful brilliancy upon our deck. Casting my eyes upwards, I be-held a spectacle which froze the current of my blood. At a terrificheight directly above us, and upon the very verge of the precipi-tous descent, hovered a gigantic ship of, perhaps, four thousandtons. Although upreared upon the summit of a wave more than ahundred times her own altitude, her apparent size exceeded thatof any ship of the line or East Indiaman in existence. Her hugehull was of a deep dingy black, unrelieved by any of the customarycarvings of a ship. A single row of brass cannon protruded fromher open ports, and dashed from their polished surfaces the firesof innumerable battle-lanterns, which swung to and fro about herrigging. But what mainly inspired us with horror and astonish-ment, was that she bore up under a press of sail in the very teeth of

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that supernatural sea, and of that ungovernable hurricane. Whenwe first discovered her, her bows were alone to be seen, as she roseslowly from the dim and horrible gulf beyond her. For a moment ofintense terror she paused upon the giddy pinnacle, as if in contem-plation of her own sublimity, then trembled and tottered, and–camedown.

At this instant, I know not what sudden self-possession cameover my spirit. Staggering as far aft as I could, I awaited fearlesslythe ruin that was to overwhelm. Our own vessel was at length ceas-ing from her struggles, and sinking with her head to the sea. Theshock of the descending mass struck her, consequently, in that por-tion of her frame which was already under water, and the inevitableresult was to hurl me, with irresistible violence, upon the rigging ofthe stranger.

As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about; and to the con-fusion ensuing I attributed my escape from the notice of the crew.With little difficulty I made my way unperceived to the main hatch-way, which was partially open, and soon found an opportunity ofsecreting myself in the hold. Why I did so I can hardly tell. Anindefinite sense of awe, which at first sight of the navigators of theship had taken hold of my mind, was perhaps the principle of myconcealment. I was unwilling to trust myself with a race of peoplewho had offered, to the cursory glance I had taken, so many pointsof vague novelty, doubt, and apprehension. I therefore thoughtproper to contrive a hiding-place in the hold. This I did by re-moving a small portion of the shifting-boards, in such a manneras to afford me a convenient retreat between the huge timbers ofthe ship.

I had scarcely completed my work, when a footstep in the holdforced me to make use of it. A man passed by my place of con-cealment with a feeble and unsteady gait. I could not see his face,but had an opportunity of observing his general appearance. Therewas about it an evidence of great age and infirmity. His knees tot-tered beneath a load of years, and his entire frame quivered underthe burthen. He muttered to himself, in a low broken tone, somewords of a language which I could not understand, and gropedin a corner among a pile of singular-looking instruments, and de-cayed charts of navigation. His manner was a wild mixture of thepeevishness of second childhood, and the solemn dignity of a God.

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He at length went on deck, and I saw him no more.

A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken possession ofmy soul –a sensation which will admit of no analysis, to which thelessons of bygone times are inadequate, and for which I fear futu-rity itself will offer me no key. To a mind constituted like my own,the latter consideration is an evil. I shall never–I know that I shallnever–be satisfied with regard to the nature of my conceptions. Yetit is not wonderful that these conceptions are indefinite, since theyhave their origin in sources so utterly novel. A new sense–a newentity is added to my soul.

It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible ship, and therays of my destiny are, I think, gathering to a focus. Incomprehen-sible men! Wrapped up in meditations of a kind which I cannot di-vine, they pass me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter folly on mypart, for the people will not see. It was but just now that I passeddirectly before the eyes of the mate–it was no long while ago that Iventured into the captain’s own private cabin, and took thence thematerials with which I write, and have written. I shall from time totime continue this Journal. It is true that I may not find an oppor-tunity of transmitting it to the world, but I will not fall to make theendeavour. At the last moment I will enclose the MS. in a bottle,and cast it within the sea.

An incident has occurred which has given me new room for med-itation. Are such things the operation of ungoverned Chance? I hadventured upon deck and thrown myself down, without attractingany notice, among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails in the bot-tom of the yawl. While musing upon the singularity of my fate,

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I unwittingly daubed with a tar-brush the edges of a neatly-foldedstudding-sail which lay near me on a barrel. The studding-sail isnow bent upon the ship, and the thoughtless touches of the brushare spread out into the word DISCOVERY.

I have made many observations lately upon the structure of thevessel. Although well armed, she is not, I think, a ship of war. Herrigging, build, and general equipment, all negative a suppositionof this kind. What she is not, I can easily perceive–what she is Ifear it is impossible to say. I know not how it is, but in scrutinizingher strange model and singular cast of spars, her huge size andovergrown suits of canvas, her severely simple bow and antiquatedstern, there will occasionally flash across my mind a sensation offamiliar things, and there is always mixed up with such indistinctshadows of recollection, an unaccountable memory of old foreignchronicles and ages long ago.

I have been looking at the timbers of the ship. She is built of a ma-terial to which I am a stranger. There is a peculiar character aboutthe wood which strikes me as rendering it unfit for the purpose towhich it has been applied. I mean its extreme porousness, consid-ered independently by the worm-eaten condition which is a conse-quence of navigation in these seas, and apart from the rottennessattendant upon age. It will appear perhaps an observation some-what over-curious, but this wood would have every characteristicof Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by any unnaturalmeans.

In reading the above sentence a curious apothegm of an oldweather-beaten Dutch navigator comes full upon my recollection."It is as sure," he was wont to say, when any doubt was entertainedof his veracity, "as sure as there is a sea where the ship itself willgrow in bulk like the living body of the seaman."

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About an hour ago, I made bold to thrust myself among a groupof the crew. They paid me no manner of attention, and, althoughI stood in the very midst of them all, seemed utterly unconsciousof my presence. Like the one I had at first seen in the hold, they allbore about them the marks of a hoary old age. Their knees trembledwith infirmity; their shoulders were bent double with decrepitude;their shrivelled skins rattled in the wind; their voices were low,tremulous and broken; their eyes glistened with the rheum of years;and their gray hairs streamed terribly in the tempest. Around them,on every part of the deck, lay scattered mathematical instrumentsof the most quaint and obsolete construction.

I mentioned some time ago the bending of a studding-sail. Fromthat period the ship, being thrown dead off the wind, has continuedher terrific course due south, with every rag of canvas packed uponher, from her trucks to her lower studding-sail booms, and rollingevery moment her top-gallant yard-arms into the most appallinghell of water which it can enter into the mind of a man to imagine.I have just left the deck, where I find it impossible to maintain afooting, although the crew seem to experience little inconvenience.It appears to me a miracle of miracles that our enormous bulk isnot swallowed up at once and forever. We are surely doomed tohover continually upon the brink of Eternity, without taking a finalplunge into the abyss. From billows a thousand times more stupen-dous than any I have ever seen, we glide away with the facility ofthe arrowy sea-gull; and the colossal waters rear their heads aboveus like demons of the deep, but like demons confined to simplethreats and forbidden to destroy. I am led to attribute these fre-quent escapes to the only natural cause which can account for sucheffect.–I must suppose the ship to be within the influence of somestrong current, or impetuous under-tow.

I have seen the captain face to face, and in his own cabin–but, asI expected, he paid me no attention. Although in his appearance

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there is, to a casual observer, nothing which might bespeak himmore or less than man–still a feeling of irrepressible reverence andawe mingled with the sensation of wonder with which I regardedhim. In stature he is nearly my own height; that is, about five feeteight inches. He is of a well-knit and compact frame of body, nei-ther robust nor remarkably otherwise. But it is the singularity of theexpression which reigns upon the face–it is the intense, the wonder-ful, the thrilling evidence of old age, so utter, so extreme, which ex-cites within my spirit a sense–a sentiment ineffable. His forehead,although little wrinkled, seems to bear upon it the stamp of a myr-iad of years.–His gray hairs are records of the past, and his grayereyes are Sybils of the future. The cabin floor was thickly strewnwith strange, iron-clasped folios, and mouldering instruments ofscience, and obsolete long-forgotten charts. His head was boweddown upon his hands, and he pored, with a fiery unquiet eye, overa paper which I took to be a commission, and which, at all events,bore the signature of a monarch. He muttered to himself, as did thefirst seaman whom I saw in the hold, some low peevish syllables ofa foreign tongue, and although the speaker was close at my elbow,his voice seemed to reach my ears from the distance of a mile.

The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit of Eld. The crewglide to and fro like the ghosts of buried centuries; their eyes havean eager and uneasy meaning; and when their fingers fall athwartmy path in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I feel as I have neverfelt before, although I have been all my life a dealer in antiquities,and have imbibed the shadows of fallen columns at Balbec, andTadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul has become a ruin.

When I look around me I feel ashamed of my former apprehen-sions. If I trembled at the blast which has hitherto attended us, shallI not stand aghast at a warring of wind and ocean, to convey anyidea of which the words tornado and simoom are trivial and inef-fective? All in the immediate vicinity of the ship is the blackness

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of eternal night, and a chaos of foamless water; but, about a leagueon either side of us, may be seen, indistinctly and at intervals, stu-pendous ramparts of ice, towering away into the desolate sky, andlooking like the walls of the universe.

As I imagined, the ship proves to be in a current; if that appella-tion can properly be given to a tide which, howling and shriekingby the white ice, thunders on to the southward with a velocity likethe headlong dashing of a cataract.

To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I presume, utterly im-possible; yet a curiosity to penetrate the mysteries of these awful re-gions, predominates even over my despair, and will reconcile me tothe most hideous aspect of death. It is evident that we are hurryingonwards to some exciting knowledge–some never-to-be-impartedsecret, whose attainment is destruction. Perhaps this current leadsus to the southern pole itself. It must be confessed that a supposi-tion apparently so wild has every probability in its favor.

The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremulous step; butthere is upon their countenances an expression more of the eager-ness of hope than of the apathy of despair.

In the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and, as we carrya crowd of canvas, the ship is at times lifted bodily from out thesea–Oh, horror upon horror! the ice opens suddenly to the right,and to the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense concentriccircles, round and round the borders of a gigantic amphitheatre,the summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness and the distance.But little time will be left me to ponder upon my destiny–the circles

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rapidly grow small–we are plunging madly within the grasp of thewhirlpool–and amid a roaring, and bellowing, and thundering ofocean and of tempest, the ship is quivering, oh God! and–goingdown.

NOTE.–The "MS. Found in a Bottle," was originally publishedin 1831, and it was not until many years afterwards that I becameacquainted with the maps of Mercator, in which the ocean is repre-sented as rushing, by four mouths, into the (northern) Polar Gulf,to be absorbed into the bowels of the earth; the Pole itself beingrepresented by a black rock, towering to a prodigious height.

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The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcibleentrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded con-dition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of com-mingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned amongthe Appennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Rad-cliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very latelyabandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest andleast sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote tur-ret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and an-tique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with man-ifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusuallygreat number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of richgolden arabesque. In these paintings, which depended from thewalls not only in their main surfaces, but in very many nooks whichthe bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered necessary–in thesepaintings my incipient delirium, perhaps, had caused me to takedeep interest; so that I bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of theroom–since it was already night–to light the tongues of a tall cande-labrum which stood by the head of my bed–and to throw open farand wide the fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped thebed itself. I wished all this done that I might resign myself, if notto sleep, at least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures,and the perusal of a small volume which had been found upon thepillow, and which purported to criticise and describe them.

Long–long I read–and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly andgloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came. The po-sition of the candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my hand

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with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed itso as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.

But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated. Therays of the numerous candles (for there were many) now fell withina niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deepshade by one of the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a pictureall unnoticed before. It was the portrait of a young girl just ripen-ing into womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and thenclosed my eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even tomy own perception. But while my lids remained thus shut, I ranover in my mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an im-pulsive movement to gain time for thought–to make sure that myvision had not deceived me–to calm and subdue my fancy for amore sober and more certain gaze. In a very few moments I againlooked fixedly at the painting.

That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt; for thefirst flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissi-pate the dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses, and tostartle me at once into waking life.

The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young girl. It wasa mere head and shoulders, done in what is technically termed avignette manner; much in the style of the favorite heads of Sully.The arms, the bosom, and even the ends of the radiant hair meltedimperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed theback-ground of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded andfiligreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could be more ad-mirable than the painting itself. But it could have been neither theexecution of the work, nor the immortal beauty of the countenance,which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me. Least of all,could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its half slumber, hadmistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at once that thepeculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of the frame, musthave instantly dispelled such idea–must have prevented even itsmomentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly upon these points, Iremained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half reclining, with myvision riveted upon the portrait. At length, satisfied with the truesecret of its effect, I fell back within the bed. I had found the spellof the picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression, which, atfirst startling, finally confounded, subdued, and appalled me. With

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deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in its former po-sition. The cause of my deep agitation being thus shut from view, Isought eagerly the volume which discussed the paintings and theirhistories. Turning to the number which designated the oval por-trait, I there read the vague and quaint words which follow:

"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely thanfull of glee. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, andwedded the painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and havingalready a bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and notmore lovely than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsomeas the young fawn; loving and cherishing all things; hating onlythe Art which was her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushesand other untoward instruments which deprived her of the coun-tenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hearthe painter speak of his desire to portray even his young bride. Butshe was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks inthe dark, high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon thepale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took gloryin his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day today. And he was a passionate, and wild, and moody man, who be-came lost in reveries; so that he would not see that the light whichfell so ghastly in that lone turret withered the health and the spir-its of his bride, who pined visibly to all but him. Yet she smiledon and still on, uncomplainingly, because she saw that the painter(who had high renown) took a fervid and burning pleasure in histask, and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him,yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak. And in sooth somewho beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words, asof a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power of the painterthan of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassinglywell. But at length, as the labor drew nearer to its conclusion, therewere admitted none into the turret; for the painter had grown wildwith the ardor of his work, and turned his eyes from canvas merely,even to regard the countenance of his wife. And he would not seethat the tints which he spread upon the canvas were drawn fromthe cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when many weekshad passed, and but little remained to do, save one brush upon themouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again flick-ered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the

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brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, for one mo-ment, the painter stood entranced before the work which he hadwrought; but in the next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulousand very pallid, and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, ’This isindeed Life itself!’ turned suddenly to regard his beloved:–She wasdead!"

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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe Volume 1 - LimpidSoft

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